THE 


HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE; 


OR, 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  GOLD. 


MRS.     C.     A.     WARFIELD. 

AUTHOR    OF 

"A  DOUBLE  WEDDING;  Qff,  HOW  SHE  WAS  WON." 


TWO    VOLUMES    COMPLETE    IN    ONE. 


"For  over  all  there  hung  a  cloud  of  fear : 
A  sense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 
And  said  as  plain  ais  whisper  in  the  ear, 
The  place  is  haunted." — THOMAS  HOOD. 

"I'll  keep  this  secret, 
As  warily  as  those  that  deal  inpmson 
Seep  poison  from  their  children." — WEBSTER. 

" '/  shuddered  ab  the  sight,' 
Said  Margaret,  'for  I  knew  it  was  his  hand 
That  placed  it  (here.'" — WORDSWORTH. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

T.   B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS; 
306   CHESTNUT    STREET. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BEOTHEES, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 

MRS.  C,  A.  WARHELD'S  NEW  WORKS. 

Each,  is  complete  in  one  volume,  cloth,  price  $1.75. 
THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE;  or,  the  Elixir  of  Gold. 
A  DOUBLE  WEDDING;  or,  HOW  SHE  WAS  WON. 

From  Marion  Ha.rla.nd,  author  of  "Alone,"  "Hidden  Path"  etc. 
"  As  to  Mrs.  Warfleld's  wonderful  book,  the  '  Household  of  Bonverie,'  I  have  read  it 
twice — tne  second  time  more  carefully  than  the  first — and  I  use  the  term  '  wonderful,' 
because  it  best  expresses  the  feeling  uppermost  in  m^jnin*L  botb^vvlli 
thinking  it  over.  Aa  a  piece  of  imaginative  writing^Lnave^ten  ^Ui 
since  the  days  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  and  I  doubt  whethef  hej!8uldllRveT*Staiiled  Ifl 
and  the  reader  through  a  book  of  half  the  size  of  tlj^iiwtwehold-DflJOITfPm?'' 
literally  hurried  through  it  by  my  intense  sympathy,  my  devouring  curiosity — it  was 
more  than  interest.  I  read  everywhere — between  the  courses  of  the  hotel-table,  on 
the  boat,  in  the  cars — until  I  had  swallowed  the  last  line.  This  is  no  common  occur- 
rence with  a  veteran  romance  reader  like  myself." 

from  Gail  Hamilton,  author  of  "Gala  Days,"  etc. 

" '  The  Household  of  Bouverie '  is  one  of  those  nuisances  of  books  that  pluck  out 
all  your  teeth,  and  then  dare  you  to  bite  them.  Your  interest  is  awakened  in  the  first 
chapter,  and  you  are  whirled  through  in  a  lightning-express  train  that  leaves  you  no 
opportunity  to  look  at  the  little  details  of  wood,  and  lawn,  and  river.  You  notice  two 
or  three  little  peculiarities  of  style — one  or  two  '  bits '  of  painting — and  then  you  pull 
on  your  seveu-Ieagued  boots,  and  away  you  go." 

From  John  G.  Saxe,  the  Poet. 

" '  The  Household  of  Bouverie  '  is  a  strange  romance,  and  will  bother  the  critics  not 
a  little.  The  interest  of  the  book  is  undeniable,  and  is  wonderfully  sustained  to  the 
end  of  the  story.  I  think  it  exhibits  far  more  power  tban  any  lady-novel  of  recent 
date,  and  it  certainly  has  the  rare  merit  of  entire  originality." 

From  George  Ripley's  Review  of  "The  Household  of  Bouverie"  in  Harper's  Magazine. 
" '  The  Household  of  Bouverie '  betrays  everywhere  a  daring  boldness  of  conception, 
singular  fertility  of  illustration,  and  a  combined  beauty  and  vigor  of  expression,  which 
it  would  be  difficult  to  match  in  any  recent  works  of  fiction.  In  these  days,  when  the 
most  milk-and-watery  platitudes  are  so  often  welcomed  as  sibylline  inspirations,  it  is 
somewhat  refreshing  to  meet  with  a  female  novel-writer  who  displays  the  unmistakable 
fire  of  genius,  however  terrific  its  brightness." 


4&-  Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.  Copies  of  either  one,  or  both 
of  the  above  books,  will  be  sent  at  once  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  postage  pre-pald,  on 
remitting  their  price  iu  a  letter  to  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


or  ASIIWOOD,  LOITISIASA, 

THIS  BOOK   IS   DKDiCATKD,   SOT   MOKE   FROM    REGARD  TO  THB  LIVING   THAN   IN   MEMORY 
OF  THE  DEAD, 

Iff   HER   FBIEND   ANJ)   KINSWO3I  IS, 

THE   AUTHOR. 


2051393 


f      ' 


TO   THE   PUBLIC. 

"FoR   us,  and   for   our   tragedie, 
Here   {looping  to   your   clemencie, 
We   beg  your   hearing  patiently." 

HAMLET,  Prologue. 


BOOK   FIRST. 


"The  fountains  of  my  heart  dried  up  within  me, 
With  none  to  love  me  and  with  none  to  love, 
I  stood  upon  the  desert  earth,  alone." 

MATURIN. 


"  I  should  sin 
To  think  but  nobly  of  my  grandmother." 

TEMPEST. 

**  And  soon  within  her  hospitable  hall, 
fine  saw  his  white  hairs  glittering  in  the  light 
Of  the  woodfire,  and  round  his  shoulders  fall, 
And  his  wan  visage  and  his  withered  mien, 
Yet  calm  and  gentle  and  majestical, 
Such  was  Zonora." 

SHELLEY  (Prince  Athanase). 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOWERIE. 


BOOK 

CHAPTER  I. 


IT  was  evening  when  we  reached  the  goal  of  a  long  journey  by 
sea  and  land, — and  saw,  brought  out  into  picturesque  relief  by 
the  red-setting  sun  and  the  dun  clouds  around  it,  the  broad  and 
singular  mansion  that  was  thenceforth  to  be  my  home.  As  we 
paused  for  a  moment  at  the  gate,  difficult  to  move  from  long 
disuse,  and  swinging  slowly  back  on  its  obelisks  of  stone,  I  clung 
with  a  feeling  of  vague  terror  to  my  companion's  arm,  and  my 
eyes  dwelt  anxiously  on  his  features,  as  if  in  their  impassible 
calm  I  could  read  my  future. 

This  stranger — for  I  had  never  seen  his  face  nor  heard  his 
name,  until,  armed  with  some  authority  none  dared  or  cared  to 
dispute,  he  stood  in  Taunton  Tower,  and  claimed  the  right  to 
convey  me  to  a  new  home  in  a  foreign  land,  and  to  relatives  I 
had  never  known — now  seemed  my  nearest  friend.  Insensibly 
during  our  long  journey,  his  quiet  voice  and  manner  had  stolen 
through  the  crust  of  my  reserve,  and  won  my  entire  confidence — 
a  confidence  never  partially  accorded. 


10  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

His  gaze,  his  smile,  his  tones,  his  very  gestures,  were  instinct 
with  a  latent  melancholy  power — potent  with  a  nature  like  my 
own,  quick  to  impetuosity  ;  yet,  now  he  did  not  notice  me,  intent 
as  he  had  heretofore  been  on  my  slightest  requisitions  ;  but 
gazing  forward  with  a  strange  eagerness  I  had  not  marked  in  him 
previously,  he  murmured  between  his  set  teeth  : 

"  God  grant  us  good  tidings  ;  what  may  not  have  happened 
during  this  long  and  cruel  absence  ?" 

The  carriage,  which  had  brought  us  from  the  nearest  town, 
now  wound  through  the  shadowed  gravel  road  that  led  to  the 

mansion's  front — a  i*6ad  evidently  little  used  for  such  a  purpose, 

jr 
for  the  dark,  unpruned  branches  above  us  swept  constantly  across 

its  roof  and  windows  with  a  harsh,  grating  sound  that  made  my 
blood  curdle. 

"  They  seem  to  "be  trying  to  drive  us  back,"  I  said  at  last. 

" '  They  ?'  To  whom  do  you  refer,  Lilian  ?"  asked  Dr.  Quintil, 
starting  as  if  from  reverie.  "  Have  you  seen  any  one  ?" 

"  Only  the  branches,"  I  replied  with  a  little  childish  laugh  that 
ended  in  a  long-drawn  sigh.  "  Oh  dear  !  I  wish  we  were  on  the 
sea  again  ;  I  was  so  happy  there  !"  And  I  clasped  his  hand 
timidly. 

"  Be  pacified,  Lilian.  You  shall  still  be  happy  if  there  is 
power  in  affection  to  render  you  so.  You  are  led  here,  I  trust, 
for  some  wise  though  yet  undeveloped  purpose,  known  only  to 
God." 

"  I  did  not  know  you  were  a  preacher  before,  Dr.  Quintil,"  I 
said,  impressed  by  the  solemn  fervor  of  his  words,  and  uncon- 
scious of  the  slightest  irony  in  mine. 

A  half  smile  curled  his  lip.  "  Nor  am  I,  Lilian — nor  am  I. 
But  do  not  speak  to  me  again  just  now,  for  I" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVER1E.  11 

The  unfinished  explanation  was  not  needed.  I  saw  with  the 
quick  discernment  of  childhood,  that  he  was  shaken  with  emotion, 
and  imagination  supplied  the  cause. 

"He  is  afraid  some  one  is  dead,"  I  thought.  " I  would  not 
care  if  they  were  all  dead  !  Then  I  could  live  alone  with  him,  in 
peace,  and  be  his  daughter.  Oh  1  I  am  sure  I  shall  neyer  love 
these  strangers." 

And  the  memory  of  those  I  had  loved,  swept  across  my  soul 
with  surpassing  bitterness.  I  wept  aloud. 

"  Child,  child  ;  this  will  not  do,"  said  Dr.  Quintil,  almost 
sternly.  "  A  little  patience,  a  little  self-command,  is  necessary 
now.  What  moves  you  thus  ?" 

"I  was  thinking  of  my  grandmother,"  I  answered,  wiping  my  eyes 
as  quickly  and  quietly  as  I  could.  "  Oh,  Dr.  Quintil,  you  did  not 
see  her  when  she  was  laid  at  rest,  or  you  could  never  forget  her  ! 
Such  a  sweet,  noble  face  ;  such  snow-white  hair,  brought  low  on 
her  thin  pale  cheeks  ;  and  a  smile  of  such  perfect  peace  lying  on 
her  mouth  like  sunshine  on  a  grave  !  I  was  thinking  of  her  thus, 
as  I  shall  never  see  her  again." 

He  listened  to  me  with  a  grave  attention  ;  yet  it  seemed  to  me 
he  was  scarcely  able  to  repress  a  sort  of  sad  smile,  peculiar  to 
him,  as  he  inclined  his  ear  to  hear  me.  Strange  to  say,  this 
encouraged  me  to  proceed,  for  its  source  I  knew  was  in  sympathy, 
not  derision. 

"  They  say  she  was  very  old,"  I  continued  ;  "  and  that  I  ought 
to  be  reconciled  to  her  death  because  of  her  great  age.  But  I 
think  we  love  people  the  more  the  older* they  grow  ;  don't  you, 
Dr.  Quintil  ?" 

"  Not  always,"  he  said  at  last.  "  Old  people  are  often  selfish 
and  hard-hearted,  and  then  they 'surely  are  not  lovely." 


12  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVERIE. 

"  All  grandmothers  must  be  old,"  I  hazarded.  Then  added, 
after  a  pause,  "  Is  my  grandmother  Bouverie  one  of  the  kind  of  old 
people  you  speak  about  ?  Oh,  I  hope  not — I  hope  not ;  but  I 
am  so  afraid."  And  I  clung  to  his  arm  with  spasmodic  anguish. 

"  Your  grandmother  Bouverie  old,  my  child  !"  he  said,  with  a 
sort  of  amused  indignation.  "  I  hare  never  before  connected  the 
word  with  her.  We  have  lived  so  much  together  that  the  process 
has  been  a  very  gradual  one — too  gradual  to  be  perceptible  ;  and 
yet,  after  all,  when  I  consider  the  matter,  she  certainly  is  not 
young,  as  the  word  goes.  But  stay,  here  we  are  ;  I  thank  you, 
Lilian,  that  you  so  beguiled  the  way  that  I  scarcely  knew  how 
near  home  we  were,  and  anxious  thought  was  laid  at  rest." 

"  And  this  is  to  be  my  home  I" 

I  drew  back,  and  remained  buried  in  shawls  in  the  corner  of 
the  carriage,  hiding  my  face  with  willful  perversity,  and  crying 
silently  yet  bitterly. 

"  Come  out,  Lilian,"  said  Dr.  Quintil,  a  little  sternly,  I  thought. 
"  Give  me  your  hand,  and  be  calm,  if  you  have  any  regard  for  my 
feelings.  There  is  no  time  to  lose,"  he  whispered.  "  Look  up, 
here  is  your  uncle  Jasper." 

I  turned.  I  was  composed,  with  one  of  those  quick  impulses 
familiar  to  my  nature,  to  my  race — an  impulse  of  self-command, 
if  such  a  term  may  be  applied  to  that  which  is  usually -considered 
the  very  antipodes  of  impulse.  I  smiled,  I  stretched  forth  my 
hands,  and  blindly  embraced  my  uncle  Jasper,  and  was  strained 
silently  to  his  bosom. 

"Now  come  to  your, grandmother,"  said  Dr.  Quintil;  "and 
Tasper,  how — how  are  all  of  you  ?"  He  paused  a  moment,  hold 
ing  my  hand  tightly  in  his.  I  did  not  hear  Jasper's  reply,  but 
fudged  it  farorable  from  the  hearty  "  Thank  God  !"  that  seemed 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBDE.  18 

to  burst  from  the  very  depths  of  Dr.  Quintil's  heart.  We  passed 
from  theVestibule  into  a  large  circular  hall,  and,  traversing  this, 
entered  and  crossed  an  oblong  passage,  from  which  a  door  imme- 
diately before  us  gave  into  my  grandmother's  chamber. 

It  was  half  open,  and  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  lady  walking  the 
floor  in  evident  agitation,  before  we  entered.  She  came  rapidly 
forward  when  she  saw  us,  gave  both  her  hands  to  Dr.  Quintil 
without  speaking,  and  then,  stooping  down,  embraced  me  tenderly 
yet  still  in  silence. 

Drawing  me  back  toward  the  broad  window  that  opened  almost 
half  of  the  whole  end  of  the  room,  she  unloosed  the  ribbons  of  my 
travelling-hood,  and  laid  it  by  ;  then,  putting  back  my  hair,  gazed 
earnestly  into  ray  face,  murmuring — perhaps  unconsciously — of  the 
impressions  she  received  from  the  close,  long  scrutiny. 

"  A  fair  young  face  1  not  beautiful,  perhaps,  but  better  thus- 
frank,  and  true,  and  strong  ;  a  face  to  be  relied  on — nothing  of 
him."  These  expressions  seemed  to  drop  from  her  lips  rather  than 
to  be  spoken  with  any  direction  of  the  will.  Raltying  suddenly 
from  this  mood  of  soliloquy,  she  smiled,  and  said,  in  more  natural 
tones  : 

"  Lilian,  you  do  not  resemble  any  relatives  that  I  have  seen 
of  yours.  I  find  you  a  De  Courcy,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes,  grandmother,  so  they  say  of  me." 

"  The  bloody  glove  is  no  heritage  of  yours,  in  any  case,"  she 
said,  taking  my  hand,  and  speaking  again  in  low  and  self-directed 
accents.  She  found  it  cold,  and  led  me  to  the  hearth,  where  an 
early  autumn  fire  had  been  kindled — more,  it  appeared,  for  cheer- 
fulness than  needful  warmth  ;  and  I  sat  well  pleased  in  the  blaze 
of  the  crackling  aromatic  branches. 

Dr.  Quintil  was  already  seated,  stretching  his  hands  over  the 


14:  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUYEEIE. 

ruddy  fagots,  and  wearing  the  sad  and  dissatisfied  expression  of 
weariness  and  fatigue.  She  paused  beside  him,  and  laid  one  hand 
kindly  upon  his  forehead,  as  a  mother  or  sister  might  have  done. 

"  I  fear  that  you  are  not  well,  Quintil,"  she  said.  "  You  seem 
anxious,  depressed  ;  what  ails  you,  my  dear  friend  ?" 

"  It  is  nothing,  madam,"  he  replied,  reviving  under  the  influence 
of  her  touch,  her  words.  "  Nothing  but  the  natural  change  that 
action  makes  in  all  dreamers  and  solitary  people,  when  they  go 
out,  wholly  unprepared,  into  the  great  whirl  of  life,  and  feel  them- 
selves, for  the  time,  no  more  than  dead  leaves  in  the  current. 

"  The  reaction  after  such  excitement  is  wearisome,  nevertheless. 
Oh  !  Paul,  I  would  your  sphere  of  existence  were  widened.  Your 
powers  demand  this  ;  they  rust,  they  corrode  you  here." 

"  Madam,  you  mistake  me  ;  the  harbor  of  home  suits  me  best. 
I  am  ill  at  ease  elsewhere,  and  yearn  for  rest." 

She  sat  down  between  us.  "I  will  not  question  you  now," 
she  said  ;  "  but  after  awhile,  when  your  spirits  find  their  tranquil 
level  again,  I  know  you  will  have  much  to  tell  me.  We  shall 
have  many  happy  evenings  this  winter,  talking  over  this  distant 

| 

pilgrimage  in  search  of  '  treasure  trove.'  And  Lilian  too,"  she 
added,  turning  to  me  with  her  brilliant  smile,  "  shall  contribute 
her  recitals  for  our  enjoyment." 

I  looked  steadfastly  upon  her  without  replying,  and  as  the  red 
firelight  fell  over  her  as  a  .crimson  mantle,  sparkling  back  from 
her  flashing  dark  eyes,  white  teeth  and  mobile  lips,  I  thought 
I  had  never  seen  so  beautiful  a  woman.  Lady  Torrington, 
even,  as  she  swept  past  Taunton  Tower  on  her  grey  charger, 
dressed  in  her  hunting  dress  of  green  and  scarlet,  had  never 
seemed  so  radiant  to  me  ;  and  I  wondered  within  myself,  not 
reflecting  on  the  vast  difference  of  years  between  them  what  had 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTTVERIE.  15 

made  one  of  my  grandmothers  infirm  and  aged,  and  sealed  unfail- 
ing youth  and  beauty  on  the  brow  of  the  other!  I  thought  of 
the  man  who  drank  of  the  waters  of  eternal  youth — wondered 
whether  "  Ponce  de  Leon"  had  indeed  succeeded  in  discovering  a 
fountain  of  this  kind  in  Florida,  as  I  had  read  he  did  in  some  old 
history  or  legend  of  his  life;  and  finally,  following  out  the  tissue 
of  thought  until  it  assumed  another  shape,  spoke  aloud: 

"  Grandmother,  did  my  mother  look  like  you?" 

She  hesitated  ;  then  answered  hurriedly:  "  I  do  not  know,  my 
child,  I  never  saw  your  mother  after  she  was  one  day  old,  save  in 
a  vision  of  fearful  reality."  Again  she  paused,  with  her  hands 
folded  on  her  knee,  and  gazed  fixedly  into  the  fire. 

"  Her  pictures  do  not  resemble  me,"  she  resumed  in  a  sort  of 
dreaming  way,  shaking  her  head  slowly,  "not  in  the  least,  Lilian; 
her  features  seem  to  have  been  her  father's  P? 

I  was  checked  from  further  remark  by  the  shadow  of  ineffable 
grief  that  seemed  to  fall  over  my  grandmother's  face  as  she  spoke 
these  words. 

The  light  died  from  her  eyes;  her  cheek — her  lips  grew  wan, 
and  even  shrunken,  as  though  the  impress  of  that  age  which  her 
beauty  defied,  had  suddenly  fixed  itself  irresistibly  on  every 
feature. 

But  at  the  first  change  in  the  conversation  she  raised  her  head, 
so  buoyantly  and  elegantly  placed  that  it  conveyed  the  impression 
to  the  beholder  of  constantly  renewed  hope  and  expectancy;  the 
color  returned  to  her  cheek,  the  light  to  her  eye  ;  her  youth 
seemed  restored  to  her,  as  by  some  magic  process.  I  did  not 
then  define,  as  I  am  doing  now,  these  changes  in  expression 
that  so  powerfully  ruled  her  aspect ;  the  effect  was  all  I  recog- 
nized. It  must  have  been  later — when  these  things  begun  to 


16  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

assume  more  importance  in  my  sight — that  I  remarked  the  rare 
perfection  of  her  foot  and  hand,  her  noble  throat  and  neck,  her 
still  symmetrical,  though  no  longer  strictly  slender  waist.  At 
first  I  was  struck  only  by  her  grace  and  beauty,  as  they  diffused 
themselves  over  her  whole  mien  and  expression,  and  the  look  of 
truth,  of  pride,  of  power,  that  beamed  from  her  features. 

"  But,  my  uncle  Jasper  1" 

Surely  no  face  of  angel  traced  by  the  hand  of  Raphael, 
no  aspect  of  holy  martyr  transfigured  into  beauty  by  the  near 
approach  to  heaven,  was  ever  more  lovely,  more  divine  than 
his! 

The  large,  clear  blue  eyes,  the  waving  chestnut  hah1,  tinged  with 
sunshine,  the  ivory  complexion,  the  exquisite  profile,  feminine  yet 
not  effeminate ;  the  mouth  rigidly  beautiful,  as  if  from  suffering  and 
determined  endurance — these  in  their  fullness  struck  me  then — in 
their  detail  later;  but  when  he  rose  I  saw  that  he  was  writhed 
and  shrunken  on  one  side  of  his  figure,  and  that  he  leaned  upon 
his  cane  habitually,  whether  standing  or  walking.  Yet,  beautiful 
as  were  both  mother  and  son,  they  did  not  greatly  resemble 
each  other,  either  in  manner,  expression  or  physical  construction. 
That  slender  form,  that  angelic  face,  must  have  been  my  uncle 
Jasper's  heritage  from  another  parent  long  laid  in  dus*,  the  very 
mention  of  whose  name  seemed  to  throw  a  shadow  over  the  house- 
hold of  Bouverie. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  17 


CHAPTER  II 

MY  grandmother's  spacious  bed-room,  ending  in  a  half  octagon, 
formed  a  central  projection  from  the  rear  of  the  building.  Three 
doors  opened  into  this  apartment  from  the  sides  that  joined  the 
house,  and  presented  a  stiff  array,  separated  as  they  were  by  wide 
panels  lined  with  mirrors.  The  central  door  opened  with  leaves 
into  a  square  or  rather  oblong  hall;  the  others,  narrower  and  of 
simpler  construction,  gave  into  small  rooms,  evidently  partitioned 
from  the  hall  for  convenience  rather  than  symmetry,  since  the 
effect  to  the  eye  must  have  been  far  more  liberal  when  the  pas- 
sage swept  across  the  house,  as  I  knew  afterward  it  had  origin- 
ally done.  One  of  these  chambers,  some  twelve  feet  square  only, 
yet  lofty  and  well  ventilated,  had  been  fitted  up  for  me  with  a 
care  and  taste  that  left  me  nothing  to  regret,  even  when  I  com- 
pared it  with  the  comfort  and  luxury  of  my  former  home.  That 
which  I  supposed  to  correspond  with  it  on  the  other  side  (which 
indeed  the  form  and  size  ot  the  mansion  made  evidently  the  case), 
was  kept  strictly  locked  ;  and  at  first  I  conceived  it  to  be  my 
grandmother's  oratory — recalling  that  of  the  mistress  of  Taunton 
Tower — or  study,  perhaps,  where  books  and  paintings,  sacred  to 
her  eye  alone,  were  cautiously  concealed,  as  I  had  heard  was  the 
enstom  among  the  authors  and  artists  of  the  world. 

But  my  grandmother,  I  soon  discovered,  was  neither  the  one 
dor  the  other  ;  and  when  I  found  how  simple  and  even  homely 
were  the  details  of  her  every-day  life,  I  descended  from  my  pedes- 
tal of  fancy,  and  determined  that  this  "  Blue  beard  chamber," 


£8  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

so  mysterious  and  inaccessible  to  me,  was  nothing  more  or  less 
than  a  shy  woman's  dressing-room  A  deep  reticence  of  nature 
did  indeed  underlie,  in  a  very  remarkable  degree,  the  sparkling 
cordiality  of  my  grandmother's  manner.  You  stumbled  on  thia 
constitutional  or  habitual  reserve,  accidentally  sometimes,  as  you 
might  do  on  a  stone  hid  in  a  bed  of  flowers,  and  with  something 
of  the  same  sharp  sudden  anguish  ;  but  I  am  digressing  to  speak 
of  this  now.  I  wish  to  give  at  once,  for  reasons  that  will  be 
plainer  hereafter,  as  correct  an  idea  as  I  know  how  to  convey  by 
words,  of  the  construction  of  the  house  of  Bouverie. 

The  central  building,  as  seen  from  without,  built  as  it  was  oi 
the  dun-colored  sandstone  common  to  that  region,  consisted  of  two 
stories  surmounted  by  a  circular  dome  or  cupola.  A  glitter  on 
the  roof  of  this  superstructure,  which  was  observable  at  some 
distance  from  the  mansion,  pointed  to  the  idea  of  a  skylight  or 
glass  framework,  which  might  in  the  beginning  have  lit  the  lower 
as  well  as  the  upper  hall,  if  such  indeed  existed.  No  evidence 
that  an  upper  floor  formed  any  portion  of  the  house  was  afforded 
by  its  internal  construction  ;  it  contained  no  stairway,  and  the 
circular  hall  of  entrance  was  ceiled  over,  so  as  to  shut  out  any 
connection  with  that  which  might  have  been  supposed  to  lie 
above  it. 

The  house  was  built  in  the  outline  of  a  disproportioned  cross, 
in  which  the  small  square  vestibule  in  front,  my  grandmother's 
projecting  chamber  in  the  rear,  and  the  two  long  wings,  contain- 
ing severally  the  gentlemen's  apartments  and  accommodations  and 
offices  for  servants,  represented  the  four  limbs.  The  main  build- 
ing contained  only,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see  within,  the  central 
circular  hall  to  which  I  have  already  referred,  and  one  large  room 
on  either  hand  opening  from  this  rotunda,  and  made  square,  or 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVERIE.  19 

rather  oblong,  by  means  of  triangular  closets.  The  lateral  hall, 
with  its  divided  chambers,  completed  the  quadrangle. 

I  understood  later  how  it  was  that  after  her  husband's  death, 
one  of  violence  and  horror  it  was  whispered,  my  grandmother  had 
cut  off  all  communication  with  those  upper  rooms  which  he  had 
chiefly  inhabited,  associated  in  her  mind  as  they  were  with 
bloodshed  and  self-slaughter;  and  how,  as  the  dark  legend  crept 
stealthily  around,  that  night  after  night  he  might  still  be  heard 
walking  their  floors,  and  had  even  been  seen  descending  the  spiral 
stairs  that  linked  one  circular  hall  with  the  other,  while  the  moon 
shone  down  through  the  great  skylight,  revealing  to  the  startled 
watchers  his  ghastly  lineaments  and  spectral  form — she  had,  in 
the  desperation  of  her  fear  and  agony,  sealed  up  forever  those 
haunted  and  accursed  chambers.  For  this  purpose  the  stairway 
had  been  removed,  and  the  space  between  the  two  halls  floored 
and  ceiled.  This  was  done  with  an  expedition  that  made  food  for 
conjecture  in  the  neighborhood,  having  its  origin,  doubtless,  in 
the  almost  frenzied  terror  of  her  own  sensations,  that  caused  her 
to  spare  neither  expense  nor  urgency  to  have  her  alterations 
executed  with  dispatch.  The  workmen  who  performed  this  task 
were  summoned  from  a  distant  town,  and  spoke  in  a  foreign 
tongue.  They  came  and  went  like  shadows;  and  hi  this  manner 
she  evaded,  as  much  as  possible,  the  neighborhood  gossip  and 
espionage  which  must  otherwise  have  so  annoyed  her  in  her 
crushed  condition.  For,  at  the  tune  all  this  was  done,  my  grand- 
father's fearful  death  was  recent;  and  the  same  artisans  who 
removed  the  stairs,  and  sealed  away  from  sight  and  access  those 
abhorred  upper  apartments,  placed  the  simple  marble  obelisk 
which  bore  his  name,  above  his  grave  in  the  cedar  grove. 

A  great  lamp  swung  in  the  centre  of  that  circular  hall  now, 


20  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEEIE. 

where  the  sunlight  and  moonlight  had  once  streamed  freely  down 
from  the  transparent  roof ;  and  the  restless  ghost  might  walk 
forever  in  those  large  dim  chambers,  with  their  nailed-up  windows, 
and  disused  and  mouldering  furniture,  and  disquiet  no  one. 

"Not  one  article  was  touched  or  brought  away,  Miss  Lilian, 
that  ever  belonged  to  him"  added  my  informant  in  low  whispered 
tones,  the  old  demure,  and  yet  gossiping  woman  who  assisted  at 
my  toilet,  and  who  had  lived  with  my  grandmother  and  cared  for 
her  since  her  birtfi  ;.  "  not  one  article,  lest  a  curse  might  cleave  to 
it  and  fall  on  ?w  ;  and  still  he  may  be  heard  at  tunes — don't  be 
frightened,  Miss  Lilian  ! — walking,  walking,  the  livelong  night, 
the  livelong  day  even,  as  though  no  rest  were  granted  him  in  the 
other  world,  who  took  no  rest  in  this." 

I  had  hidden  my  face  on  Dame  Bianca's  arm  as  she  proceeded 
in  her  vague  narration,  thrilled  by  a  momentary  terror.  Now  I 
looked  up  and  was  annoyed  by  the  expression  of  her  countenance 
as  my  sudden  glance  fell  upon  it.  She  seemed  to  be  enjoying  the 
emotion  she  had  insDired  me  with,  and  a  furtive  and  half  sup- 
pressed smile  lurked  on  her  lips  and  in  her  eyes  that  shook  my 
confidence  in  the  sincerity  of  her  representations. 

"  She  is  trying  to  fool  me,"  I  thought,  "  with  this  ghost-story, 
and  to  make  a  coward  of  me  ;  but  I  know  there  is  nothing  of  the 
kind." 

And  nervea  by  this  sudden  conviction,  I  proceeded  to  question 
her  with  more  coolness  and  sagacity  than  she  could  have  expected 
from  one  evidently  so  impressed  with  her  narration  a  moment 
before. 

"  What  made  my  grandfather  so  restless,  Dame  Bianca  ?"  I 
asked.  "  Was  he  unhappy  and  wicked,  or  only  busy  ?" 

"  All,  oaild,  all  !  wretched  enough,  I  daresay,  when  he  stopped 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  21 

to  think  of  his  misdeeds — and  busy  always  as  any  working-bee 
hi  summer-time.  Busy  with  hand  and  brain,  with  pen  and  sword, 
with  drug  and  pistol,  reading,  and  thinking,  and  plotting  and  con- 
triving ;  and  trampling  over  every  one  that  stood  in  his  way, 
without  fear  or  mercy.  But  he  was  a  great  gentleman  after  all, 
more  like  a  prince  than  a  common  man  it  appeared  to  me,  and  so 
grand  in  his  ways,  that  no  man  could  ever  take  a  liberty  with 
him,  not  even  the  old  master,  Ursa  Bouverie,  that  had  no 
respect  for  any  one  else,  and  trod  on  human  feelings  as  a  horse 
treads  on  grass.  Old  '  Ursa  Major,'  they  call  him  hereabouts  ; 
but  I  never  could  see  the  sense  of  putting  his  title  last ;  '  Major 
Ursa '  would  have  sounded  better,  I  think,  Miss  Lilian  ?" 

"  Why,  that  means  the  great  bear,  Bianca,"  I  said,  laughing 
heartily  at  the  conceit,  and  entirely  roused  from  the  horrors  of 
her  narrative  ;  forgetting  too,  in  my  amusement,  the  pique  her 
expression  of  triumph  had  occasioned  me  when  she  felt  sure  of 
my  credulity.  "  An  excellent  title,  I  have  no  doubt,  for  the  cross 
old  man — Ursa  !  what  a  funny  name  for  a  Christian  I" 

"  He  was  no  Christian,  Miss  Lilian,"  she  said  gravely  ;  "  but 
a  dreadful  old  heathen  as  the  Lord  ever  permitted  to  live  !  I 
never  knew  how  it  was  that  your  grandfather  crept  into  his  feel- 
ings so  toward  the  last,  unless  it  was  " —  and  she  hesitated,  then 
digressed  abruptly.  "  '  She  shall  have  a  home  of  her  own,  if  my 
act  can  give  it  to  her,'  I  heard  him  say  one  night  about  a  week 
before  he  died,  when  your  grandfather — his  nephew,  you  know, 
child,  he  was — was  talking  with  him  about  making  his  will  in  the 
library,  and  he  slammed  his  hand  down  just  so  on  the  table  till  it 
shook  again  !  '  Shall  I  insert  the  clause  now,  uncle  ?'  I  heard 
Mr.  Brastus  Bouverie  say  in  his  soft  sweet  tones,  more  like  trick- 


22  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BODVEKIE. 

ling  water  or  falling  silver  than  any  other  sound  I  ever  heard. 
'  Or  shall  it  be  done  later  ?' 

"  '  You  need  not  trouble  yourself  about  it  at  all,  Erastus,'  the 
old  man  answered  ;  '  after  all  your  objections,  it  might  give  you 
too  much  pain  ;  or  maybe,  you  might  accidentally  leave  a  flaw  !" 
and  old  '  Ursa  Major,'  laughed  long  and  loud." 

"  Oh,  Bianca,  that  was  very  insulting  to  say  to  his  nephew,  I 
think" 

"  Not  for  hmi,  Miss  Lilian,  who  never  had  a  civil  word  for  any 
one  except  Miss  Camilla  ;  but  her  he  fairly  worshipped.  Any- 
way, the  look  he  got  that  night  from  Mister  Erastus  would  have 
killed  any  one  else  outright.  Few  people  could  stand  before 
your  grandfather's  eyes,  I  tell  you,  my  child  ;  but  he  said  no- 
thing on  this  occasion,  but  went  on  writing.  I  have  heard  them 
say  that  knew  his  disposition  best,  that  ne  aever  justified  himself 
in  any  way  but  one." 

"  And  that  one,  Bianca  ?" 

"  Never  mind,  Miss  Lilian,  what  that  was,  it  was  a  dreadful 
way  at  the  best  ;  but  as  I  was  saying,  he  kept  on  writing  in 
silence.  The  old  man  did  not  live  long  afterward  ;  he  died  sud- 
denly, you  know,  but  he  did  not  forget  to  add  the  clause,  and 
that  was  the  way  your  grandmother  came  to  own  Bouverie." 

"•  But  where  were  you  all  the  tune,  Bianca,  to  see  and  hear  so 
much  ?  Were  you  hid  away  to  spy  and  to  listen,  Bianca  ?  Oh, 
I  hope  not,  for  the  credit  of  our  house." 

"  Busy  in  the  next  room,  child,  and  the  door  ajar  between ;  but 
if  you  hold  such  suspicions,  you  may  learn  the  rest  for  yourself." 
Aud  the  injured  dame  drew  up  her  slight,  erect  figure  in  an 
attitude  that  indicated  fixed  resolution  ;  nor  could  I  hope  to 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEKIK.  2ii 

learn  from  any  other  source  the  unfinished  history  I  burned  to 
know. 

A  little  scene  had  been  enacted  before  this  conversation  occurred 
with  Bianca,  which  taught  me  the  necessity  of  self-control  in  the 
household  of  Bouverie,  both  as  to  question  and  remark.  I  could 
not  venture,  after  this,  to  inquire  of  any  member  of  the  family 
concerning  my  grandfather's  fate  or  the  events  of  his  life,  in  view 
of  the  lesson  that  my  own  indiscretion  had  taught  me 

It  was  on  the  day  after  my  arrival,  that,  sitting  at  the  supper- 
table,  during  a  long  pause  in  the  conversation,  and  while  my 
grandmother  was  especially  engaged  with  her  coffee-urn,  I  was 
suddenly  shaken  by  one  of  those  unseasonable  fits  of  laughter 
common  to  excitable  children. 

"  What  amuses  you,  Lilian  ?"  asked  Dr.  Quintil.  "  Come,  give 
us  your  merry  thought,  and  we  will  pluck  it  together." 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Quintil,  I  was  only  thinking  how  funny  it  was — -and 
I  never  thought  of  it  until  this  minute,  which  makes  it  funnier 
still — that  my  uncle  Jasper  has  never  spoken  one  word  to  me  since 
I  came  to  Bouverie  !  Not  one.  word,  Mister  Jasper,  have  you 
said  to  your  niece  since  she  came  to  live  with  you,  either  for  good 
or  for  bad,"  and  I  shook  my  finger  playfully  at  him  across  the 
table. 

He  gazed  at  me  a  moment  earnestly,  and  then  suffered  his  fore- 
head to  droop  into  his  hands.  Had  I  offended  him  ?  I  looked 
anxiously  at  Dr.  Quintil ;  he,  too,  was  pale  and  grave,  and  averted 
his  eyes  from  mine.  My  grandmother  alone  retained  her  self- 
possession. 

"  My  child,"  she  said,  "  in  this  house,  above  all  others,  learn 
to  be  discreet.  It  is  our  misfortune  to  be  an  afflicted  household, — 
Jasper  has  never  spoken." 


24  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOFVERIE. 

i  dropped  the  untasted  morsel,  and,  in  a  passion  of  grief  and 
mortification,  I  slid  from  the  table,  and  lay  with  my  face  on  the 
floor.  I  was  raised  by  kindly  hands.  Jasper  held  me  in  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  what  have  I  done  !"  I  said  ;  "  I  did  not  know — indeed  I 
did  not  know — that  one  might  hear,  and  still  be  dumb.  Poor 
Uncle  Jasper  !  Can  you  forgive  me  ?" 

Words  never  spoke  as  his  eyes  spoke  to  me  then.  I  have  since 
believed  that  in  the  spirit-world  there  will  be  no  need  of  speech, 
but  that  light,  shining  from  each  heavenly  visage,  shall  reveal 
whatever  the  immortal  essence  seeks  to  communicate,  and  words 
be  put  away  with  other  bonds  of  flesh.  He  held  me  to  his  bosom 
long,  for  my  feelings,  when  once  vividly  aroused,  were  not  easily 
consoled  to  quiet  again  ;  and  they  told  me  that  on  that  home  of 
peace  I  sobbed  myself  to  rest. 

Jasper — my  Jasper — from  that  hour  I  loved  thee  as  entirety 
as  I  shall  ever  do  when  we  meet  at  the  feet  of  God  1 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  KNEW  that  all  who  cared  for  me  in  England  were  dead,  and 
lhat  my  hopes  and  affections  must  now,  for  my  own  happiness,  be 
centred  in  the  household  of  Bouverie.  My  father's  relative,  who 
•anerited  Taunton  Tower,  had  been  long  in  India.  He  was  old, 
cniidJ^ss,  diseased,  and  totally  alienated,  as  they  told  me,  from 
family  and  country.  He  had  not  thought  of  me,  except  as  an 
incumbrance  in  my  double  orphanhood,  and  must  have  been  re- 
lieved to  find  me  swept  out  of  sight  when  he  came  to  take  posses- 
sion  of  his  heritage. 

My  father  had  been  an  only  son,  and  my  mother — placed  at 
school  with  his  young  sisters,  under  the  private  tutelage  of 
Madame  Ambrose,  an  aunt  of  his — had  early  attracted  him,  and 
secured,  as  they  grew  up  together,  a  place  in  his  deepest  affections. 
Known,  as  she  was,  to  his  family  from  infancy  to  youth,  and  even 
distantly  related  to  them  through  her  father,  they  received  her 
gladly  as  his  wife,  and  accorded  her  at  once  a  place  among  them 
as  one  of  themselves. 

They  were  married  at  his  majority,  and  in  her  earliest  girlhood, 
as  was  best  for  her,  motherless  as  she  was  supposed  to  be,  and 
protected  only  by  her  aged  relative,  Madame  Ambrose — then  ap- 
proaching her  end — and  a  father,  whose  rare  visits  were  made 
from  a  distant  land,  and  with  erratic  irregularity.  This  father,  it 
is  true,  provided  liberally  for  her  education  and  necessities,  and 
had  impressed  all  who  saw  him  in  his  brief  visits  to  his  child  as  a 

man  of  elegance  and  refinement  befitting  his  name  and  English 

2 


<*  THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

connections.  Yet  he  was  an  alien,  and  some  stringent  reason,  of 
a  nature  perhaps  too  delicate  to  be  revealed  to  strangers,  or  more 
than  surmised  by  them,  prevented  him  from  inviting  his  daughter 
to  share  his  American  home.  Half  suspected,  as  this  reason  was, 
it  was  one  that  offered  no  impediment  to  honorable  marriage  on 
her  part,  and  so,  with  the  blessing  of  mother  and  sisters,  Morna 
Bouverie  was  united  to  Edward  De  Courcy. 

In  the  first  year  of  marriage  one  of  the  fair  sisters  of  my  father 
faded  away  in  consumption ;  the  other,  splendidly  beautiful,  and 
of  a  haughty  and  wayward  spirit,  fled  with,  and  was  married  to, 
Lord  Torrington,  the  hereditary  foeman  of  her  race.  He  was  a 
man  of  notorious  character,  of  more  than  double  her  own  age — 
the  divorced  husband  of  one  wife,  the  slayer  and  oppressor,  it 
was  believed,  of  another,  the  abhorred  of  all  right-minded  and 
honorable  men.  How  he  had  found  means  to  approach  and  woo 
her  was  never  known  ;  yet  in  his  fastness  of  the  mountains — his 
frowning  and  almost  inaccessible  castle — they  lived  without  society, 
and,  as  far  as  could  be  judged  of  by  outsiders,  in  harmony,  if  not 
affection.  He  was  a  stern,  superb-looking  man,  as  I  remember 
him,  heading  the  hunt,  as  it  swept  by  Taunton  Tower  ;  and  to  the 
magnificent  presence  of  his  wife,  as  she  followed  fast  upon  his 
steps,  I  have  elsewhere  alluded.  All  the  romance  in  my  young 
heart  was  kindled  by  the  sight  of  this  beautiful  kinswoman,  to 
whom  I  dared  not  speak  or  even  allude  ;  who  was,  indeed,  con- 
signed to  deeper  oblivion  than  the  grave  affords  to  the  beloved 
dead,  from  the  day  of  her  headstrong  marriage,  by  the  whole  of 
her  offended  family. 

In  the  fatal  severing  of  other  ties,  my  mother  was  folded  with 
true  maternal  love  to  the  heart  of  my  grandmother  De  Courcy. 
Alas  !  another  year  saw  her  also  lying  a  pale  still  corpse,  with  a 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.  27 

wailing  infant  beside  her,  motherless  from  its  first  dawn  of  life, 
and,  as  if  fate  were  never  weary  of  sacrifice  in  that  devoted 
household,  two  years  later  Edward  de  Courcy  was  lost,  sailing  in 
his  summer  boat,  on  one  of  the  romantic  lochs  near  Taunton 
Tower,  and  in  sight  of  assistance,  some  said,  from  Torrington 
Castle,  coldly,  vengefully  withheld.  By  this  very  act,  or  the  sus- 
picion of  it,  any  possibility  of  reconciliation  was  forever  shut  off 
between  the  offending  daughter  and  the  unhappy  mother,  who  now 
took  to  her  bosom  for  all  comfort,  the  feeble  infant  her  son  had 
left,  made  poor  and  dependent  by  his  untimely  death. 

For,  as  I  have  elsewhere  said,  the  estates  passed  to  mak  hdr 
collaterals. 

My  parents  were  but  dreams  to  me,  even  when  described  in 
such  earnest  language  as  my  grandmother  De  Courcy  could  com- 
mand ;  nor  did  her  care  and  affection  leave  any  feeling  of  my 
heart  unsatisfied,  or  room  for  the  faintest  regret  to  harbor  there. 
It  was  not  until  she  too  was  cut  off  by  the  hand  of  death  that  all 
my  desolation  and  woeful  orphanage  flashed  over  me,  with  a  sud- 
denness that  almost  changed  my  nature,  and  converted  its  childish 
confidence  to  gall  and  wormwood,  and  age,  if  experience  be 
such. 

The  coarse,  unfeeling  speculations  of  strangers  as  to  what 
would  become  of  me,  freely  uttered  before  me,  with  that  strange 
misapprehension  of  a  child's  capacity  to  feel  and  to  suffer,  that 
belongs  to  commonplace  natures  and  matter-of-fact  thinkers, 
wherever  they  may  be  found,  had  stung  me  to  agony  ;  and  when 
I  heard  the  letter  of  Colonel  de  Courcy  read  aloud,  in  which  he 
expressed  the  hope,  that  I  would  be  suitably  provided  for  before 
he  came,  "  at  the  parsonage,  or  somewhere  else " — a  letter 
written  to  the  land  steward  of  the  estate,  my  grandmother's 


28  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

servant,  as  I  had  ever  esteemed  Mm  ! — all  the  pride  and  sorrow  of 
my  soul  surged  to  the  surface,  and  I,  a  child  of  scarcely  twelve 
years  old,  thought  sternly  of  suicide  !  That  lake  in  which  my 
father  found  a  grave,  would  afford  a  refuge  for  his  child.  I 
would  go  down  into  its  deep  dark  waters,  and  lie  at  rest ;  yea, 
eternally  1  God  would  not  be  angry  with  me  ;  he  knew  what  I 
was  suffering,  and  I  should  be  restored  to  those  I  loved — to  my 
grandmother — my  forgotten,  but  idolized  father  and  mother,  now 
smiling  amid  the  angels  I 

There  was  no  place  in  the  world  for  me,  it  seemed,  better  than 
the  cottage  of  Bridget,  my  nurse,  with  its  coarse  surroundings, 
unless  indeed  the  grim  portal  of  Torrington  Castle  were  opened 
to  me  ;  that  prison-house  of  pride  and  sin,  as  my  beloved  grand- 
mother had  described  it,  from  which  kindred  eyes  had  looked 
down  upon  and  mocked  my  father's  death-struggles  ! 

Not  there — not  there  !  Better  the  still  tarn,  or  the  dun,  sepul- 
chral vault  at  Taunton  Tower,  where  at  least,  I,  as  one  of  that 
proud  race,  had  a  right  to  lie  in  death,  than  life  in  those  walls, 
with  sin  and  hardness  of  heart  as  my.  companions. 

I  was  crouching  under  one  of  the  old  stone  pillars  that  sup- 
ported the  gate  of  entrance  to  the  outer  park  of  Taunton  Tower, 
while  thoughts  like  these  swayed  my  being.  I  was  thinking  of 
the  cold,  deep  water — the  plunge,  the  shock — then  the  long  sweet 
sleep,  and  the  awakening  in  Heaven  ;  with  all  the  earnestness 
a  perfect  faith  in  the  resurrection  could  impress  on  my  nature,  and 
with  something  very  near  a  fixed  determination  in  my  heart  to 
tempt  my  fate,  when  I  heard  a  voice  speaking  beside  me.  The 
words  it  uttered  were  lost  to  my  ear,  but  they  aroused  me  fully. 
I  arose  to  my  feet  with  a  conscious  individuality  that  belonged  to 
me  eveu  as  a  child,  and  always  commanded  me  in  any  sudden 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE,  liV 

need,  as  if  self-defence  were  my  birthright,  and  mankind  my 
hereditary  foemen,  and  looked  full  upon  the  stranger. 

He  was  evidently  a  traveller.  The  horse  he  led  was  a  tired 
creature,  and  he  was  covered  with  the  dust  that  the  wild  wind  of 
that  September  day — for  the  sun  then  was  just  crossing  the  line — 
whirled  over  every  object ;  and  as  he  looked  into  my  face  with  his 
clear  grey  eyes,  wistfully,  anxiously  even,  I  felt  my  heart  for  the 
first  tune  for  many  days,  heave  in  my  bosom— it  had  lain  like  a 
stone  before — with  renewed  vitality. 

I  will  not  linger  on  this  interview,  nor  on  its  strange  disclosures. 
Then  first  I  heard  that  another  grandmother,  hi  a  foreign  land, 
was  stretching  out  her  arms  for  me.  My  mother's  father,  I 
knew  had  been  long  dead,  and  of  other  relatives  of  hers  I  had 
never  been  informed.  Then  first,  since  the  death  of  my  grand- 
mother De  Courcy,  months  before,  I  felt  that  there  still  remained 
to  me  in  this  world,  hope  and  affection.  Dr.  Quintil  claimed  me, 
as  if  I  had  been  a  jewel  of  price,  instead  of  a  friendless  and  almost 
portionless  orphan  ;  for  my  grandmother's  slender  savings,  though 
willed  to  me,  would  scarcely  have  done  more  than  given  me  bread 
and  raiment  in  a  humble  sphere  of  life  ;  and  thus  it  came  to 
pass  that  I  was  transferred  to  foreign  guardianship,  and  to  a 
transatlantic  home,  almost  before  my  bewildered  brain  could 
realize  the  change  hi  my  destiny. 

On  the  day  before  we  left  Taunton  Tower,  Dr.  Quintil  called 
me  into  the  library,  where,  in  the  presence  of  the  magistrates  of 
the  parish,  he  was  signing  some  papers,  necessary  I  believe,  to  my 
departure  with  him  as  my  guardian,  when  a  veiled  lady  opened 
the  door  looked  in,  closed  it  again,  and  noiselessly  withdrew — tc 
veappear  however,  a  few  minutes  later,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  a 


30  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEKIE. 

tall  and  stately  man,  whom  I  recognized  at  once  as  Lord 
Torrington. 

My  aunt  trembled  excessively,  nor  did  she  once  remove  her  veil 
during  the  brief  interview  that  decided  my  fate.  Through  her 
husband's  lips  her  errand  there  was  mad6  known,  in  a  few 
haughty  but  not  uncourteous  words.  She  asked  to  adopt  me  as 
her  child,  promising  me  a  mother's  care  and  tenderness — and  her 
low  sobs  attested  tp  my  heart,  the  sincerity  and  feeling  with  which 
this  offer  was  made. 

I  will  not  deny  that  my  whole  being  yearned  to  her  then, 
almost  irresistibly,  and  the  potent  voice  of  blood  cried  out  within  me. 

Dr.  Quintil,  with  his  calm  observing  gaze,  noted  and  compas- 
sionated the  struggle  that  was  going  on  within. 

"Speak,  Lilian  !"  he  said  ;  "you  only  can  decide  in  this  mat- 
ter, so  important  to  your  happiness  and  welfare  ;  but  reflect — the 
step  you  take  now  will  be  irrevocable." 

I  glanced  at  Lord  Torrington's  handsome  stormy  face.  • 
thought  of  the  sinking  boat,  and  the  help  refused,  and  my  father 
cast  pallid  and  dead  on  the  strand  below  his  castle  ;  and  my  heart 
was  nerved  like  steel. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  Dr.  Quintil,"  I  said,  stretching  my  hand 
to  him,  which  he  grasped,  and  held  firmly. 

Lady  Torrington  rose  ;_  she  tottered  rather  than  walked  to  the 
door.  I  wrested  my  hand  from  Dr.  Quintil,  and  rushed  after  her. 

"  Stay,"  I  cried,  "  let  me  speak  to  you  at  least  one  word,  before 
we  part  forever.  You  are  the  last  of  my  father's  kindred,  and  if 
you  have  been  cold  and  cruel,  I  forgive  you  now."  And  I  threw 
my  arms  around  her. 

"  Cold  and  cruel,  Lilian  I     Oh,   who  has  said  this  of  me  1 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEKIE.  31 

Blighted  and  miserable,  say  rather/?  she  murmured,  as  she  clutched 
me  to  her  breast  in  an  embrace  of  straining  agony.  "  And  alone, 
utterly  alone,  in  the  world." 

"  Aunt,  I  could  have  loved  yon  so  dearly,"  I  said,  sobbing ; 
"  but  now  " 

"  Go,"  she  said,  "with  that  good  man,  it  is  best ;  be  happy.  I 
would  ask  you  to  write  to  me,"  she  added,  in  whispered  accents, 
"  but  this  would  not  be  permitted.  Yet  do  not  wholly  forget  me." 

"  It  was  solely  from  a  wish  to  save  my  wife's  only  surviving 
relative  from  contact  with  disgrace,  that  I  united  with  her  in 
making  this  absurd  proposition,  so  insolently  rejected,"  I  heard 
Lord  Torrington  say,  as  he  turned  from  Dr.  Quintil. 

"/,  who  have  succeeded  in  accomplishing  this  by  saving  her  from 
your  hands,  can  afford  to  bear  your  taunts,"  rejoined  Dr.  Quintil, 
coolly.  "  For  the  present,  at  least,  our  paths  lie  far  apart,  rude 
man  ;  yet  we  may  meet  again." 

"Do  you  threaten  me,  sir?"  asked  Lord  Torrington,  his  dark 
eyes  flashing  with  fury. 

"  Construe  my  words  as  you  please,"  was  the  calm  rejoinder  ; 
"  yours  have  no  power  to  stir  me  in  any  way." 

I  believe  that  Lord  Torrington  would  then  and  there  have 
assaulted  the  mild  man  who  stood  so  impertnrbably  before  him, 
with  arms  folded  on  his  breast,  had  not  his  wife  clung  wildly  to 
his  bosom,  entreating  him  to  be  pacified. 

I  ranged  myself  with  Dr.  Quintil — my  instincts  were  all  on  his 
side  ;  and  something  like  a  wish  for  battle  swelled  high  in  my 
heart,  as  I  witnessed  this  brief  scene.  I  felt  that  day  that  all  the 
bad  and  bitter  blood  within  me  came  to  the  surface,  and  that, 
child  as  I  was,  it  would  have  done  me  good  to  fight  the  good 
fight  against  my  aunt's  oppressor,  and  my  father's  foeman. 


32  THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

But,  brought  to  a  sudden  sense  of  shame — or  fear,  who  knows  ? 
• — Lord  Torrington  swung  scornfully  on  his  heel,  and  left  the  room 
with  rapid  strides,  followed  by  his  weeping  wife — so  different  from 
the  stern,  haughty  woman  I  had  thought  her,  and  lost  to  me 
thenceforth  forever ! 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MY  tastes  and  feelings  had  readily  assimilated  with  those  around 
me,  and  my  heart  had  reached  out  with  warmth  and  gratitude  to 
meet  their  affection  and  esteem  so  unhesitatingly  bestowed.  It 
would  have  been  indeed  difficult,  so  circumstanced,  to  have  felt 
otherwise,  without  deserving  the  reproach  of  humanity  itself ;  yet 
the  shadow  that  enveloped  these  people,  whose  daily  elegance  of 
life,  culture,  and  courtesy,  placed  them  so  high  hi  the  scale  of  re- 
finement, fell  over  me  also,  an  alien  to  its  cause.  I  had  that 
intuitive  perception  of  their  grief,  that  persons  with  finely  consti- 
tuted nerves  possess  of  the  approach  of  a  thunder-storm,  though 
the  sky  be  clear  and  cloudless.  The  determination  manifested  by 
all  around  me  to  make  the  best  of  the  lees  of  life,  did  not  deceive 
me,  child  as  I  was,  into  the  belief  that  the  bead  was  still  on  their 
wine. 

Yet  they  inspired  me  with  that  respect  we  involuntarily  feel 
toward  those  who,  in  accepting  their  condition,  prove  their  supe- 
riority to  fate  itself,  and  disarm  destiny  of  its  keenest  sting — re- 
sistance. Shipwrecked  sailors  are  they  who  compel  themselves  to 
a  new  existence  and  a  comparative  contentment,  cut  off,  as  they 
are,  by  the  nature  of  things  from  all  long  accepted  sources  of  en- 
joyment— strong  swimmers,  who  have  left  a  wreck,  and  breasted 
the  surf,  to  live  forever  on  a  desert  island. 

Those  to  whom  the  changes  of  nature,  the  freshness  of  morning, 
the  glory  of  sunset,  the  opening  of  flowers,  the  tender  beauty  of 

the  grass,  are  most  pleasing — most  suggestive,  are  not  the 

2* 


M  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF    BuUVKitlii. 

the  gay,  the  happy.  They  are  those  who,  having  suffered,  humbly 
recognize  the  beauty  and  the  promise  that  remain  to  them,  and 
are  placidly  thankful  for  all  surroundings  that  may  impress  and 
elevate  their  thoughts,  and,  above  all,  lift  them  from  themselves. 

I  have  seen  a  strong  man,  whose  life  had  been  a  failure,  busy 
himself  with  newspapers  until  they  seemed  an  integral  part  of  his 
existence,  with  all  their  fluctuations  of  political  and  commercial 
changes,  or  merge  his  very  being  in  the  game  of  chess,  until  the 
nature  which  had  stood  immovable  as  a  rock  against  the  storms 
of  fortune,  grew  warped  and  bitter  under  defeat,  and  lost  dignity 
over  a  disputed  move  or  a  checkmate  ! 

And  so  in  the  house  of  Bouverie,  where  self  had  long  ceased  to 
interest,  and  individual  joy  was  stagnant,  the  child  that  came 
among  them  unconscious  of  their  sorrow,  and  bearing  about  her  a 
freshness  of  youth 'and  foreign  impulse  at  variance  with  all  their 
monastic  habits,  was  to  them  as  a  votive  altar  to  gather  about 
and  wreathe  with  garlands — a  talisman,  to  while  away  that  sore- 
BOU!  apathy  that,  before  her  coming,  must  have  brooded  very 
heavily  indeed  over  their  social  existence. 

Yet  the  dignity,  the  method,  of  my  grandmother's  household, 
suited  in  turn  my  native  taste,  which  enjoyed  no  vulgar  excitement. 
I  admired  the  perfection  to  which  system,  and  a  determination  to 
secure  peace  as  the  first  of  all  considerations,  had  brought  her 
management.  Order  seemed  to  have  taken  the  place  of  happiness 
at  Bouverie,  as  taste  has  often  been  seen  to  step  forward  in  that 
of  talent  with  a  certain  gracefulness  which  almost  persuades  one 
into  a  belief  in  their  identity.  It  is  true,  no  stranger's  foot  ever 
crossed  our  threshold  to  mar  the  tranquillity  of  our  routine,  save 
that  of  Bishop  Clare — my  grandmother's  valued  friend,  and 
spiritual  guide  ;  and  it  was  certainly  easier,  under  these  serene 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  35 

circumstances,  to  preserve  unbroken  order,  than  if  guests  had  been 
admitted,  or  the  members  of  the  family  gone  forth  and  returned 
frequently.  Yet  it  required  patience  and  system  both  to  draw 
such  results  from  the  elements  around  her,  as  obeyed  the  manage- 
ment of  the  mistress  of  Bouverie. 

Her  servants  were  old  and  few — singularly  chosen,  I  thought 
then  ;  wisely,  I  knew,  later — and  her  own  hands  put  the  finishing 
touch  that  added  refinement  to  neatness,  to  much  of  the  work  of 
her  household.  It  was  my  pleasure  to  aid  her  in  her  tasks,  and  I 
became,  like  herself,  a  proficient  in  all  the  light  cares  of  house- 
wifery, and  learned  to  value  the  variety  they  afforded  in  the  mo- 
notony of  our  lives. 

As  members  of  the  household  of  Bouverie — to  which  narrow 
sphere  of  action  my  story  is  chiefly  limited — and  as  not  wholly 
unimportant  accessories  to  the  movement  of  this  domestic  drama, 
I  will  notice  here  singly,  yet  as  briefly  as  I  may,  the  humble  yet 
eccentric  personages  who  constituted  with  us  the  "  second  estate." 
Dame  Bianca,  our  personal  attendant,  was  a  slight,  upright 
person,  still  wearing  her  own  dark  hair,  and  bearing  traces  of 
beauty  peculiar  to  her  Spanish  origin,  yet  having  no  remembrance 
of  her  native  land  or  of  its  language.  She  had  been  thrown,  in 
her  orphaned  infancy,  into  the  hands  of  my  grandmother's  mother, 
who  had  reared  her  tenderly  ;  and  she  had  been,  through  life, 
devoted  to  her  service  and  that  of  her  daughter,  whose  senior  she 
was  by  several  years.  She  was  childless,  having  married  late  in 
life,  but  her  husband  survived  and  lived  under  the  same  roof; 
and  she  esteemed  herself  happy  in  a  privilege  rarely  granted  to 
white  servants,  considered  as  it  is  a  mere  matter  of  course  by 
slaves. 

Our  cook,  a  much  older  woman  than  Dame  Bianca  in  appeal- 


36  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

ance,  if  not  in  reality,  was  an  Irish  virago  tamed  down  by  ago 
and  infirmity,  and  a  very  hag  of  hideousness  and  crossness.  She 
was,  however,  it  must  be  confessed,  quite  a  proficient  in  her  line, 
and  in  order  to  secure  her  services  permanently,  she  had  been 
allowed  to  rear  and  keep  her  idiotic  grandson  at  Bouverie. 

Patrick  McConnick  had  grown  old  enough  to  officiate  as  scul- 
lion at  first,  and  finally  as  hostler  even  to  the  saddle  horses  of 
Bouverie,  for  carriage  there  was  none.  It  was  his  duty  to  dress 
the  flower  plots,  and  to  bring  from  the  distant  house  of  the  gar- 
dener and  his  wife,  our  laundress,  the  daily  supplies  of  marketing, 
vegetables,  fruit,  poultry  and  linen,  we  required.  Thus,  in  some 
measure,  my  grandmother's  bounty,  extended  to  him  through  so 
many  useless  years,  seemed  at  last  repaid.  For  the  rest,  his 
almost  ludicrous  ugliness  and  awkwardness  unfitted  him  for  house 
service,  and  made  him  a  repulsive  object  to  me  whenever  I  encoun- 
tered him. 

He  had  conceived,  from  the  tune  of  my  advent  to  Bouverie,  an 
almost  spaniel-like  fondness  for  me,  which  occasioned  me  no  little 
annoyance.  He  haunted  my  steps  until  I  was  obliged,  in  self- 
defence,  to  drive  him  sternly  back,  tune  after  tune;  and  he  would 
stand,  on  such  occasions,  looking  after  me  with  a  wistful  sorrow, 
as  you  have  seen  a  dog  do,  repelled  by  his  master,  distressed  yet 
not  resentful.  It  was  impossible  by  any  other  means  than  those 
dictated  by  severity,  to  assign  to  this  poor,  half-sane  creature,  his 
proper  limits,  or  to  make  him  recognize  his  true  position.  Until 
rendered  afraid  to  repeat  the  liberty,  by  a  sound  thrashing  from 
Widow  McConnick,  he  would  constantly  touch,  and  examine 
admiringly,  the  long  brown  curls  that  fell  over  my  shoulders. 

Once,  when  I  was  seated  under  a  tree  reading  an  illustrated 
book,  his  large  red  forefinger  was  suddenly  obtruded  on  my  view 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE^  37 

as  he  pointed  childishly  over  my  shoulder  to  the  picture  that 
attracted  him,  and  the  spot  his  soiled  touch  had  left  could 
never  be  effaced.  But  this  time  I  dismissed  him  with  a  slight 
rebuke,  touched  as  I  was  by  both  his  earnestness  and  penitence ; 
taking  care,  however,  to  read  illuminated  volumes  within  doors 
thereafter.  It  was  strange,  indeed,  to  find  so  keen  a  sense  of  the 
beautiful  as  he  possessed,  lying  at  the  bottom  of  such  an  imper- 
fectly developed  nature. 

I  have  seen  the  creature  lean  on  his  spade,  with  his  lips  parted 
and  his  gooseberry  eyes  stretched  to  their  utmost  limits,  gaping 
rather  than  gazing  with  evident  admiration  on  the  setting  sun. 
The  sensation  of  enjoyment  was  there,  unembarrassed  by  thought 
of  any  kind,  or  power  to  express  it  if  it  existed,  otherwise  than 
by  mute  attention.  Where  would  metaphysicians  have  placed 
this  instinct  of  poetry,  cut  off  as  it  was  from  all  its  usual  accom- 
paniments, in  the  case  of  this  half-witted  boy?  Or  how  separate 
the  fine  silken  threads  of  feeling  and  loyalty  that  were  woven  in 
the  warp  of  his  foolishness,  from  the  coarse  fabric  itself,  or  even 
know  where  one  ended  and  the  other  began  ? 

In  the  absence  of  a  better  religion,  the  poor  fellow  was  the 
prey  of  abject  superstition,  and  was  witch-ridden  to  an  extent 
rarely  heard  of  since  the  days  of  Cotton  Mather!  His  crude 
imagination  revelled  in  a  kingdom  of  its  own,  where  goblins  and 
ghosts  made  an  absolute  despotism,  and  held  him  in  serf-like  bon- 
dage; and  his  only  feeling  of  enmity  was  directed  against  these 
supernatural  foes.  Charms  and  talismans  of  all  kinds  were  gath- 
ered around  his  person  for  the  purpose  of  destroying  the  power 
of  these  tormenting  visitors,  whose  wish  to  possess  bma  certainly 
indicated  a  degree  of  disinterestedness  on  their  part,  unusual  in 
their  organization,  and  worthy  of  a  better  cause. 


38  .THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIK 

I  have  lingered  thus  long  over  the  portrait  of  this  "half-saved  w 
lad,  for  reasons  that  may  be  plainer  hereafter.  There  remains 
but  one  additional  member  of  the  corps  of  domestics  to  be  intro- 
duced, a  man  machine,  if  ever  there  was  such  a  creation,  pursuing 
his  tasks  so  literally,  so  mechanically  as  almost  to  persuade  one  that 
the  click  of  the  clockwork  that  impelled  him  could  be  heard  as 
he  glided  along.  Something  peculiar  and  mysterious  seemed  to 
attach  to  his  presence  and  movements,  that  was  increased  by  the 
reserve  and  rigidity  of  his  deportment.  He  was  of  medium  height, 
slight,  pallid,  withered,  yet  with  two  bright  spots  glowing  on  his 
cheeks,  vivid  as  if  painted  there,  and  hectic  as  the  color  of  the 
autumn  leaf.  His  eyes  were  blue,  glassy,  inexpressive,  and  usually 
directed  into  space,  if  such  a  term  might  be  applied  to  their  inde- 
finite stare;  yet  with  these  incomprehensive-looking  eyes  of  his  I 
ascertained  later,  that  he  saw  everything  that  went  on.  His  hair 
was  of  a  strange  yellowish  white,  in  which  the  gold  of  youth  still 
contended  strongly  with  the  inevitable  silver  of  age,  and  was  worn 
'.n  short  tufted  curls,  so  as  to  display  the  whole  of  his  flat,  un- 
meaning forehead.  He  reminded  me  of  a  faded  wax  doll,  or  a 
picture  poorly  painted  in  water-colors,  that  one  wipe  of  the  hand 
would  obliterate  altogether.  His  smile  consisted  of  a  contraction 
or  pucker  of  the  lips,  instead  of  labial  expansion,  and  recalled 
that  mixture  both  sour  and  saccharine  that  housewives  call  sweet 
pickle.  It  was  his  province  to  lay  the  cloth  and  serve  the  meals, 
after  fulfilling  which  duties  he  invariably  disappeared,  to  pursue 
what  further  employment  I  knew  not  and  did  not  inquire. 

It  was  long  before  I  became  aware  that  this  peculiar  individual 
had  been  the  body-servant  of  my  grandfather,  and  was  the  hus- 
band of  Dame  Bianca.  They  called  him  Fabius. 

Each  day  had  its  accustomed  routine  at  Bouverie.     As  soon  as 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOUVERIE.  39 

breakfast  was  over,  and  the  light  task  of  disposing  of  the  fine 
and  carefully  preserved  china,  in  which  I  assisted  my  grandmother, 
at  an  end,  I  withdrew  with  Dr.  Quintil  to  the  study  in  the  wing, 
and  there  received  his  instruction  in  various  branches.  Corn- 
panionless,  I  had  no  other  resource  than  books  afforded  me,  and 
the  love  of  knowledge  became  with  -me  an  absorbing  passion 
rather  than  an  occupation. 

Jasper  usually  sat  in  the  same  room  in  which  I  was  taught, 
pursuing  his  separate  studies,  and  entirely  engrossed  by  the 
volumes  he  pored  over,  to*  the  exclusion  of  voices  and  other  dis- 
turbing causes.  He  had,  indeed,  that  power  of  application  in  an 
uncommon  degree,  \vhich  by  some  French  authors,  Montesquieu, 
I  believe,  has  been  used  as  a  definition  of  genius.  If  the  meaning 
be  extended  so  as  to  cover  the  ground  of  the  application  of  know- 
ledge after  its  acquirement — the  result  of  application  of  mind — to 
all  occasions  of  life,  this  definition  may  be  found  to  possess 
merit,  and  even  originality,  and  to  answer  as  well  as  most  that 
have  been  accepted  as  expositions  of  that  Protean  gift  of  which 
Prometheus  was  the  antique  type. 

At  noon,  when  study  hours  were  over  for  the  day,  I  sought  my 
grandmother's  chamber,  and  found  her  usually  seated  at  her  work 
by  the  large  window  I  have  before  described  ;  while  the  little 
repast  of  fruit,  or  cake,  or  conserves,  she  never  forgot  to  provide 
for  me,  was  placed  on  the  table  by  her  side.  When  I  had  par- 
taken of  this  I  was  free  to  go,  to  ride  my  pony,  to  walk,  to 
swing,  and  gather  flowers  in  the  fine  season  ;  or  in  winter,  to 
exercise  in  the  basement  below,  kept  warm  for  the  benefit  of  the 
flowering  plants  it  sheltered,  or  to  pore  over  the  volumed  lore  of 
the  library,  until  our  late  dinner  hour  arrived,  or  to  play  and  sing 
at  my  piano,  unquestioned  and  unnoticed  ;  for  my  grandmother 


40  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

knew  better  than  most  persons,  how  important  to  the  growth  and 
dignity  of  a  child's  character,  is  a  certain  freedom  of  action  and 
solitary  self-reliance. 

I  still  look  back  to  those  lonely  hours,  as  the  basis  of  much 
that  is  strong  and  resolute  in  my  character,  and  as  the  promoters, 
if  not  originators,  of  that  -poetic  faculty  which,  however  limited  in 
its  results,  has  been  my  chief  comfort  and  resource  in  life — a 
faculty  I  would  not  surrender  for  Victoria's  crown,  were  I  obliged 
to  fill  its  place  with  commonplace  and  inanity,  and  which,  more 
than  all  else,  has  reconciled  me  to  life;  and  assured  me  of  the  cer- 
tainty of  a  glorious  immortality. 

A  great  orator  has  lately  in  his  eulogium  on  the  most  dis- 
tinguished statesman  \>f  any  age,  in  his  zeal  for  those  qualities 
which  peculiarly  appertained  to  the  character  of  the  august  sub- 
ject of  his  debate,  levelled  cold  and  cruel  blows  at  the  peculiar 
organization  to  which  we  give  the  name  of  "  genius."  When  God 
takes  back  his  gift  of  flowers,  limits  sunshine,  wipes  out  the  rain- 
bow, dashes  from  the  shell  and  gem  their  lustre,  and  from  tne 
bird  the  hues  of  his  glorious  plumage,  replacing  these  with  cold, 
utilitarian  coloring  ;  when  the  love  of  the  beautiful — the  gerni  of 
all  poetic  power — ceases  to  lift  the  human  heart  to  Him  who 
adorned  the  world  with  such  exquisite  consideration  for  this 
master  passion  of  his  noblest  creatures — including  as  it  does,  love, 
heroism,  religion,  glory — then,  and  not  until  then,  shall  I  believe 
that  genius  is  superfluous  ;  and  that  in  the  eyes  of  the  Creator  it 
is  of  little  or  no  avail  1 

Dr.  Kane,  sailing  on  the  lonely  Arctic  seas,  renders  nicer 
tribute  to  the  comfort  that  genius  gives .  him  ;  I  use  the  word 
advisedly  ! 

"  None,"  says  he,  "  who  have  not  read  the  poems  of  Tennyson 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEKIE. 

nuder  circumstances  of  isolation  like  those  that  surrounded  me, 
can  form  any  idea  of  the  consolation  to  be  derived  from  their 
perusal." 

These  are  not  his  exact  words — I  do  not  own  these  volumes — 
but  any  one  can  find  the  passage  I  refer  to  with  such  a  clew. 
Following  out  the  impulse  of  his  gratitude,  he  calls  by  the  name 
of  his  favorite  poet,  the  wondrous  column  of  green  basalt 
that  stands  forth  as  if  made  by  the  hand  of  human  art,  bare  and 
terrific  even  in  its  strange  solitary  grandeur,  from  the  cold  grey 
rocks  around  it,  and  looms  above  the  lonely  glassy  ocean  of  that 
Arctic  zone.  This  he  calls  "  Tennyson's  Monument."  What 
prouder  tribute  has  poet  ever  received  ? 

Dear  as  were  those  solitary  hours  to  me,  and  life-giving  as  they 
proved  themselves,  the  tendency  of  my  nature  was  essentially 
social  and  loyal ;  and,  had  I  been  permitted  to  do  so,  I  would 
have  attached  myself  warmly  and  entirely  to  my  grandmother's 
society,  and  even  service.  But,  while  with  one  hand,  she  drew  me 
to  her,  with  the  other  she  put  me  away — gently,  but  no  less 
decidedly. 

Her  conversation  was  especially  delightful  to  me — so  animated, 
so  varied,  so  natural,  so  full  of  detail,  that  it  was  like  reading  a 
pleasant  book  to  listen  to  it.  One  is  said,  I  know,  oftener  in  de- 
rision than  in  praise,  to  "  talk  like  a  book  ;"  but  this  is  a  prejudice 
derived  from  old  times,  when  books  were  oftenest  prating  and 
pedantic  oracles.  Who  would  not  like  to  hear  such  conversation 
daily,  as  we  meet  with  in  the  pages  of  many  modern  novels  ? 
Terse,  sparkling,  and  graphic  illustrations  of  nature  itself,  com- 
pared to  which  all  ancient  dialogue  seems  flat  and  affected  ! 

I  would  often  linger,  as  if  spell-bound,  near  my  grandmothers 
chair,  until  almost  commanded  to  leave  her  ;  and  then  drag  myself 


42  THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE. 

unwillingly  away,  wounded  and  dissatisfied.  Yet  out  of  this  very 
mood  came  forth  at  last,  as  I  have  said,  a  wonderful  self-reliance. 

"  Lilian,"  she  said  to  me,  one  day,  when,  more  than  usually 
fascinated  by  her  discourse,  I  had  established  myself  on  a  stool  at 
her  feet,  with  my  favorite  paper-work,  and  had  been  gazing  some 
moments  perfectly  spell-bound  into  her  speaking  face  ;  "  Lilian.  I 
must  be  cautious  ;  I  am  afraid  you  are  beginning  to  love  me  a 
.little." 

"  Beginning,  grandmother  !  and  why  not  ?"  I  asked,  somewhat 
indignantly,  opening  my  eyes  to  their  fullest  extent,  and  pausing, 
with  the  scissors  extended  in  my  right  hand,  with  which  I  was 
about  to  clip  the  paper-rose  I  held  in  my  left.  "  I  think  it  is  quite 
tune  I  should  love  you." 

"  Love  any  one  else  you  please,  Lilian,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  mo- 
notonous tone,  wholly  different  from  her  usually  well-modulated 
accents  ;  "  love  Jasper  and  Dr.  Quintil  with  all  your  heart,  and 
you  will  get  back  your  treasure  with  interest.  Love  Dame 
Bianca,  even,  if  you  can  and  choose  to  do  so  ;  but  do  not  love  me, 
Lilian,  I  beseech  you." 

Again  the  question,  "  why  not  ?"  trembled  on  my  lips  ;  and  now 
my  eyes  filled  with  tears. 

"Because  it  is  dangerous  to  love  me,"  she  answered  ;  "fatal, 
almost,  I  fear — a  better  reason,  perhaps,  still,  because  I  have  no 
love  to  give  you  in  return  ;  nothing  but  sadness  ;  my  affections 
are  dead,  Lilian,  my  heart  lies  like  a  stone  in  my  bdsom.  My 
intellect  only  survives." 

"I  will  love  you,  then,"  I  said,  kneeling  on  the  stool  before 
her,  and  folding  my  hands  on  her  knees,  while  the  neglected 
paper-work  strewed  the  floor  beside  me,  "  without  asking  for  any 
return.  I  will  love  you  as  Mary  Magdalene  loved  Christ,  when 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVKRIE.  43 

she  poured  sweet  ointment  on  his  feet,  and  heeded  no  re- 
proaches." 

"  Your  thought  is  a  strange  and  even  beautiful  one  for  a  child 
of  your  years,"  she  rejoined,  "but  irreverent,  as  you  apply  it. 
Lilian,  it  is  sinful,  extravagant,  to  make  such  comparisons ;"  and 
she  looked  at  me  with  severity  in  her  eyes.  "  Yon  have  no  right 
to  render  such  tribute  to  any  creature  of  dust." 

"  Tell  me,  then,"  I  said,  stoutly,  iny  cheek  flushing  from  her 
slight  rebuke,  or  the  manner  of  it — "  tell  me,  then,  why  I  am  not 
to  love  you  ?  Give  me  a  good  reason,  and  I  will  try  to  obey  you. 
Grandmother,"  I  continued,  fixing  my  eyes  on  her  in  turn,  with  a 
steady  sternness  foreign  from  their  usual  expression  ;  "  answer  me, 
are  you  wicked  ?" 

"  Child,  you  are  a  terrible  inquisitor,"  she  said,  rising  to  her 
feet,  and  standing  before  me,  in  a  state  of  unwonted  excitement. 
"  Lilian,  I  cannot  see  how  one  of  your  tender  years  could  ever 
conceive  such  a  thought,  or  utter  such  a  question.  Well,  let  it 
pass  !  But  this  is  a  stringent  word,  truly,  that  you  apply  to  me  ! 
No,  no — not  wicked,"  she  added,  in  low  murmured  tones,  as  she 
turned  to  me  again  ;  and,  pausing,  extended  her  hands,  perhaps 
unconsciously,  as  if  appealing  against  the  harsh  judgment. 
"  Sinful  we  all  are — sinful  I,  too,  have  been,  and  chosen — per- 
haps especially  chosen — to  bear  the  burden  of  the  sin  of  others  ; 
but  wicked  ? — not  that — not  that !"  Her  words  seemed  self- 
directed. 

"  Then,  grandmother,"  I  said,  clasping  her  hands,  and  standing 
steadily  before  her,  "  you  must  let  me  love  you,  even  if  you  don't 
care  for  me,  for  are  you  not  my  mother's  own  dear  mother,  and 
thus  nearer  than  all  the  world  to  me  ?" 

She  shook  her  head  mournfully.     A  sudden  thought  flashed 


4:4:  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

across  me  for  the  first  time,  then  and  there,  blighting  and  crushing 
as  lightning.     I  dropped  her  hands,  I  sank  to  the  floor,  I  clasped 
her  knees,  and  hid  my  face  among  the  folds  of  her  garments.     I  • 
recalled  what  she  had  said  of  her  child. 

"  Oh,  answer  me  truly,  grandmother  I"  I  almost  groaned. 
"Did  you — did  you  abandon  my  mother,  your  helpless  baby?" 

She  did  not  reply  for  a  moment,  but  I  felt  her  frame  tremble 
from  bead  to  foot,  as  if  my  grasp  only  upheld  her.  Then  stooping 
down,  she  raised  me  from  the  floor,  and  spoke  with  comparative 
coolness. 

"  You  torture  yourself — and  me,  by  such  doubts — such  sugges- 
tions, Lilian.  The  time  will  come,  I  trust,  when  you  will  think 
better  of  me  than  to  question  of  such  matters.  Until  then, 
silence  your  misgivings,  and,  if  you  can,  believe  in  me.  And  now, 
more  than  ever,  I  find  it  necessary  to  impress  upon  you  the  lesson 
that  gave  rise  to  this  painful  outbreak  of  feeling  between  us.  I 
am  in  earnest,  Lilian,  and  speak  for  the  welfare  of  both,  when  I 
warn  you — counsel  you,  not  to  love  me.  It  is  a  luxury  in  which 
I  cannot  afford  to  indulge."  And  she  smiled  .bitterly. 

"  Gather  up  your  papers,  Lilian,"  she  said  calmly,  a  moment 
later,  seeing  that  I  still  stood  before  her,  silent  and  irresolute, 
"  aud  go  and  seek  Jasper  ;  you  will  find  him  better  company  to-day 
than  I  can  be." 

I  obeyed  her  first  injunction.  My  paper  flowers  were  swept 
hastily  together,  to  be  in  the  next  moment  cast  in  the  flames,  and 
consumed  before  her  ;  and,  without  lifting  my  eyes  to  her  face,  I 
passed  from  her  presence,  to  seek — not  Jasper,  but  the  deepest 
shadow  I  could  find,  and  to  lie  mutely  at  the  foot  of  a  cedar-tree 
for  hours. 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOTJVEKIE.  45 


CHAPTER  V. 

WHEN  I  returned  to  the  house  after  tliat  long  trance-like 
struggle  of  feeling,  so  to  speak,  in  which  my  spirit  had  been 
engaged,  while  torpid  lethargy  oppressed  my  frame,  the  sun  waa 
setting.  I  knew  that  I  had  been  sought  for  during  this  interval 
of  absence.  Jasper  had  passed  mutely  twice  along  the  gravelled 
path  that  swept  not  very  far  from  the  cedar-tree  that  sheltered 
me,  without  distinguishing  my  green  dress  from  the  abundant 
periwinkle  that  clustered  around  me,  and  the  long  cedar  boughs 
that  trailed  over  me  ;  nor  did  I  care  to  attract  his  attention.  I 
had  heard  Pat  McCormick  shouting  my  name  at  the  dinner  hour, 
in  different  directions  ;  the  long  drawn  "  Miss  Lilian,"  so  dis- 
torted as  to  sound  like  the  hooting  of  an  owl,  through  the 
medium  of  his  thumbs  and  imitating  fingers,  was  repeated  at  in- 
tervals afterward,  through  the  whole  afternoon  ;  but  of  this  sig- 
nal I  took  no  notice. 

"  What  did  it  matter  to  me,  whether  they  were  seeking  me  or 
not  ?  Let  them  suffer  as  I  was  suffering,  if  indeed,  my  absence 
troubled  them.  I  had  believed  myself  beloved — I  had  found 
mere  dutiful  compassion  instead.  I  was  nothing  but  a  charity 
child  to  them — to  Dr.  Quintil,  and  Jasper,  and  all — I  was  glad  I 
understood  this  at  last.  I  should  be  so  hard,  so  happy  now,  for 
to  love  too  much  was  burdensome,  after  all  1" 

And  in  a  current  like  this  my  unjust  and  passionate  mood 
found  vent,  until  the  tide  ebbed  away  and  left  me  calm,  passive, 
and  almost  repentant ;  and  in  this  better  frame  of  mind  I  arose 
thoroughly  chilled,  I  must  confess,  and  turned  to  the  house 


4:6  THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   JJOUVERIK. 

I  entered  through  the  wing,  where  the  pantry  and  domestic 
offices  were  situated,  and  stumbled  at  once  over  Dame  Biauca 
busily  engaged  in  setting  to  rights  the  china  and  viands,  as  was 
her  custom  after  meals. 

"La,  Miss  Lilian,  where  have  you  hid  yourself?"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  upraised  hands  !  "  You  that  are  so  regular  at 
meal-tunes.  Dinner  has  been  over  this  hour — and  Bishop  Clare 
here — and  such  nice  cream  and  pudding,  and  young  broiled 
chickens,  and  everything  you  love  on  the  table — and  your  grand- 
mother in  such  a  worry  about  you  !  Now,  Miss  Lilian,  for 
shame,  to  try  patience  this  way  !  Pat  McCormick  has  just  got 
on  a  horse  to  go  in  search  " 

"  Do,  Dame  Bianca,  stop  scolding,"  I  interrupted,  "  and  give 
me  something  to  eat.  I  am  almost  starved  ;  I  know  you  kept 
my  dinner  for  me." 

"  Well,  if  I  did,  it  was  more  than  you  deserved  !  To  go  and 
frighten  a  body  so  !  How  did  I  know  what  had  become  of  you, 
with  all  that  strange,  bad  Bouverie  blood  boiling  in  your  veins  ? 
Did  any  one  ever  know,  from  one  moment  to  another,  what 
Major  Ursa,  or  Mister  Erastus  would  be  at  ?  I  ask  you  that, 
Miss  Lilian  ?" 

"  Dame  Bianca,  you  forget  that  I  never  knew  either  of  tho^s 
gentlemen,  and  that  my  name  is  De  Courcy — and  that,"  I  added 
savagely,  "  I  have  had  no  dinner,  and  am  half  dead  for  soinethii  g 
to  eat,  and  if  I  can't  get  my  dinner  here  I  can  go  off  again, 
and  " 

"  Good  Lord,  Miss  Lilian  !  do  have  common  patience.  Don't 
you  see  me  fixing  your  chicken,  and  your  lettuces,  and  your  bread, 
on  one  plate  so  as  not  to  mix" 

T  cut  short  her  epicurean  fancies  by  seizing  the  plate  of  viands 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIB.  47 

she  extended,  and  adding  half  a  dozen  other  articles  of  food  to 
the  daintily  arranged  chicken  and  lettuce,  and  after  demolishing 
these  in  an  incredibly  short  tune,  I  asked  for  the  cream  and  pud- 
ding. 

When  I  had  literally  eaten  through  the  bill  of  fare,  I  paused, 
well  pleased,  from  my  labors. 

" Dame  Bianca,"  I  asked,  "can  you  tell  me  what  is  better 
than  affection — or  fame — or  intellect,  or  any  other  matter  of  that 
sort  that  people  make  such  a  fuss  about  ?" 
4     "  Religion,  Miss  Lilian,"    she  answered  with  meek  simplicity, 
"  that  is,  the  true  Catholic  faith." 

"  My  friend,  you  are  much  mistaken,"  I  said,  with  an  assump- 
tion of  importance  that  must  have  struck  even  her  with  its 
absurdity.  "  Above  all  these  things  is  the  value  and  importance 
of  food  to  the  hungry.  In  short,  a  good  dinner,  Biauca  1" 

She  looked  at  me  with  a  half  amused  face  and  said,  shaking  her 
head  : 

"  Ah,  Miss  Lilian !  anybody  could  see  who  had  been  your 
teacher — that  sounds  mightily  like  Dr.  Quintil." 

"  Dr.  Quintil  1  I  do  believe  you  think  all  wisdom  comes  from 
him,  and  that  the  mantle  of  his  namesake  has  fallen  on  his 
shoulders  !  Can't  you  give  me  credit  for  a  little  sense  of  my 
own?" 

"  Not  much,  at  your  age,  dear,  not  much  ;  and  as  for  Dr. 
Quintil,  he  has  more  sense,  and  goodness  too,  than  the  Apostle 
Paul  ever  dared  to  have." 

"  Bianca  1  what  impiety  1"  My  Calvinistic  blood  flashed  to 
my  cheek  in  a  moment,  and  I  felt  like  placing  a  lance  in  rest  at 
once  for  my  grandmother  De  Courcy's  Bible  hero. 

"  For  didn't  he  stone  the  holy  St.  Stephen,  my  patron  saint- •• 


4:8  Tilt    HOLSKHOL.D   OF   BOUVEBIK. 

and  Bishop  Clare's,  too,  for  that  matter,"  she  continued,  raising 
her  voice,  "just  because  he  hadn't  sense  or  feeling  enough  to  see 
the  truth,  until  he  heard  a  voice  from  heaven,  crying  out  to  him  ? 
If  every  man  had  to  wait  for  that  to  be  a  Christian,  where 
would  the  true  Church  be  now,  or  the  merit  of  Christianity  ?  I 
ask  you  that,  Miss  Lilian  ?" 

"  Good  heavens,  Bianca  !  let  us  drop  that  never-ending  theme, 
'  the  true  Church,'  and  give  me  a  light  that  I  may  brush  my  hair, 
and  change  my  dress  before  I  go  to  meet  that  terrible  old  bug. 
bear,  Bishop  Clare." 

"  Bugbear,  Miss  Lilian  !  Bishop  Clare  a  bug-bear  !"  and  her 
kind  eyes  filled  with  tears.  She  said  no  more  ;  but  lighting  the 
candle,  extended  it  to  me  with  a  sort  of  sorrowful  indignation. 

I  took  it  and  hastened  away  from  her  with  a  rejoicing  levity  of 
spirit. 

"  I  mean  to  be  as  free  as  air  from  this  moment,"  I  thought, 
"  and  not  care  for  any  of  them.  Ah  !  grandmother,  your  lesson 
is  a  hard  one,  but  I  will  learn  it  well." 

I  am  afraid  that  something  of  old  Ursa  Bouverie  did  peep  out 
from  my  hidden  nature  that  evening,  but  there  was  a  rock  at 
hand  to  crush  the  serpent's  head,  and  stifle  it  forever.  A  rock 
did  I  say  ?  Nay,  rather  a  downy  shower  of  roses,  a  deluge  of 
honey  and  rosewater,  and  all  fine  odors,  a  perfect  avalanche  of 
plumes  and  pearls,  more  potent  to  subdue  and  smother  soul- 
snakes  than  all  the  pelting  of  sticks  and  stones.  And  und*er  this 
great  tempest  of  tenderness,  that  wicked  scion  of  old  Ursa  Bou- 
verie  yielded  up  its  breath,  and  left  the  heart  of  his  descendant 
open  once  more  to  sacred  influences  and  teachings  of  affection, 
even  as  the  atmosphere  was  purified  when  the  genial  Sun  God 
slew  the  Python 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBTE.  49 

The  dining-room,  our  customary  sitting  parlor,  was  empty 
when  I  entered  it  ;  but  I  saw  through  the  open  door  lights  be- 
yond, and  following  these  I  soon  found  myself  in  the  drawing- 
room,  where,  for  the  first  tune  since  I  came  to  Bouverie,  the  family 
was  assembled. 

I  paused  at  the  open  door,  a  little  uncertain  as  to  my  reception, 
and  surveyed  the  scene  within.  Bishop  Clare,  for  such  I  could 
not  doubt  was  the  noble,  white-haired  man  who  occupied  a  deep 
chair  in  front  of  the  blazing  wood  fire,  was  listening  with  grave 
attention  to  some  communication  my  grandmother  was  making  to 
him  in  under-tones.  Dr.  Quintil  sat  near  the  shaded  lamp,  looking 
over  a  newspaper;  Jasper  was  walking  the  apartment,  anxiously 
( thought. 

I  entered  and  stood  before  them. 

Jasper  saw  me  first.  The  sunshine  of  joy  broke  over  every 
feature  as  he  came  eagerly  forward  and,  clasping  my  hands  in  his, 
pressed  them  fondly  to  his  breast,  then  drew  me  on  to  my  grand- 
mother's chair. 

She  turned— ^her  great  eyes  filled  with  tears — her  arm  was 
around  me  with  a  half-convulsive  pressure,  and  I  thought  I  heard 
a  smothered  sob;  but  she  did  not  speak  until,  recovering  herself 
abruptly,  she  jflaced  my  hand  in  that  of  Bishop  Clare  with  the 
simple  words: 

"  This  is  my  Lilian,  father." 

"Our  Lilian  say  rather,  madam,  for  you  shall  not  begin  so  late 
in  life  to  be  selfish,  even  on  the  plea  of  relationship." 

"'  Our  bird  of  Bouverie/  I  call  her,  Bishop  Clare  ;  and  you 
will  think  so  too  when  you  hear  her  sing,"  quoth  Dr.  Quintil 
from  behind  me,  placing  his  hands  on  my  shoulders. 

"  And  what  songs  do  you  love  best,  my  daughter,"  said  the 

3 


50  THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BODVERIE. 

stately  priest;  "  tell  me,  for  I  sometimes  judge  of  character  from 
things  like  these." 

"  Scotch  songs,  chiefly,  father,  because  she  loved  them;  but  for 
my  own  part,  there  are  some  I  prefer,"  I  faltered. 

"And  what  axe  those  songs,  Lilian?  " 

"  I  would  rather  not  tell  you,  father,"  I  answered,  looking 
straight  into  his  clear  blue  eyes  with  their  magnetic  attractiveness. 
"  You  might  not  think  so  well  of  me  for  liking  those — Dr.  Somers 
did  uot ;  but  indeed  I  cannot  help  it,"  I  added,  laughing. 

"Name  one,  Lilian,"  said  my  grandmother;  "I  would  not  have 
Bishop  Clare  believe  that  you  were  ashamed  of  any  song  you 
sing." 

•''  Moore's  songs  then,  if  you  must  know.  '  Come  rest  in  this 
bosom,'  grandmother,  is  a  beautiful  song  I  think;  but  I  have  been 
told  it  was  sinful  to  like  it,  and  since  then  I  never  sing  it.  This 
was  her  opinion  and  you  know  this  was  enough." 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  she  replied,  "  you  were  right  to  respect 
your  grandmother  De  Courcy's  sentiments  ;  the  song  is  one  of 
dubious  morality  I  believe,"  she  added;  "  though,  indeed,  I  never 
thought  of  it  in  that  light  before.  But  the  music,  the  old  mourn- 
ful French  air  of  '  Fleuve  de  Tage,'  is  very  beautiful." 

"  It  is  not  the  music,  grandmother,  half  as  mucn  as  the  words 
that  move  me  so.  You  know  where  the  lady  says  " 

"  The  lady,  Lilian!  It  certainly  is  a  man's  song  and  conveys  a 
man's  sentiments." 

"  Oh  no,  grandmother,  I  am  sure  it  was  a  lady  that  said — 

'  Through  the  furnace,  unshrinking,  thy  steps  I'll  pursue, 
And  shield  thee  and  save  thee,  or  perish  there  too.' 

"Her  husband,  you  know,  Bishop  Clare,  was  condemned  to 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  51 

walk  through  a  fiery  furnace,  by  some  wicked  king  I  suppose,  and 
Bhe  would  not  forsake  him." 

"And  you  like  this  sentiment,  Lilian,  which  you  take  so  lite- 
rally?" said  Bishop  Clare.  "  This  is  what  you  would  have  done 
under  like  circumstances  ?" 

"  I  think  so,"  I  answered  low,  but  my  eyes  fell  beneath  his  long, 
sad  gaze,  as  clasping  my  wrist  he  held  me  before  him,  and  pored 
on  my  face  as  on  an  open  book.  When  I  looked  up  again  he  had 
relaxed  his  hold — Dr.  Quintil  had  retreated — and  I  went  to  take 
my  seat  by  my  grandmother.  There  wa*s  deep  silence.  I  looked 
inquiringly  into  her  face.  Had  I  unwittingly  offended  ?  I  could 
not  ask  in  words,  and  no  answer  was  rendered  to  my  appealing 
gaze  ;  but  I  saw  that  every  ray  of  color  had  died  from  her 
cheek,  and  that  her  features  were  rigid  and  lifeless,  and  that  she 
held  her  hand  closely  pressed  to  her  heart.  The  mood  passed 
over;  she  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"After  all,  these  are  very  old-fashioned  songs,  Lilian  ;  I  must 
get  some  new  ones  for  you.  I  am  told  the  modern  music  is  exqui- 
site, and  some  rare  songs  have  been  written  recently — some  by 
Barry  Cornwall." 

"  But  I  love  the  old  ones  so  well,  grandmother,  there  is  no 
need  for  new.  Besides,  I  do  not  learn  strange  music  readily." 

'  That  piece  of  song,  that  old  and  antique  song  we  heard  last 
night,"  soliloquized  Dr.  Quintil  as  he  walked  the  room  in  the 
shadow  and  the  background,  half  hearing  our  subjdct  of  conversa- 
tion, half  absorbed  in  his  own  reflections — a  sort  of  double-sided 
mood  habitual  with  him,  and  peculiar  to  his  temperament. 

Jasper  smiled  as  he  followed  him  with  his  eyes,  and  enjoyed  the 
oddity  of  his  humor  with  that  sort  of  playful  irony  that  springs 
only  from  true  affection.  Then  rising  after  a  time,  he  approached 


52  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

him,  throwing  his  arm  up  over  his  shoulder,  and  joined  Ms  pur« 
poseless  promenade,  as  if  to  be  near  him  were  a  necessity  of  the 
moment  that  could  not  be  controlled,  and  which  sufficed  for  his 
happiness  without  any  further  communion  between  them. 

I  have  rarely  seen  love  like  theirs! 

"You  have  removed  your  piano,  Camilla,"  said  Father  Clare, 
looking  around. 

"  Lilian  practises  in  the  library  ;  we  keep  no  fire  here,  habitu- 
ally ;  besides,  it  is  best — you  know  the  old  prejudices,"  and  she 
dropped  her  voice. 

"  I  did  not  reflect,"  I  heard  him  say  in  low  accents  ;  "  it  cer- 
tainly is  best  to  confine  music  lessons  to  the  wing,  under  existing 
circumstances." 

"  I  teach  her  as  well  as  I  can,"  she  pursued  ;  "  but  her  musical 
ability  far  exceeds  my  own.  I  fear  I  am  of  but  little  use  to  her, 
in  this  capacity,  at  least.  Yet  it  is  such  a  pleasure  to  both 
of  us  !" 

"  An  innocent  one,  I  am  sure,"  my  children  ;  and,  as  such,  fear 
not  to  enjoy  it  while  you  may,"  he  said,  extending  his  hand  to  me, 
and  drawing  me  before  him  again  as  he  spoke  ;  "but,  to-morrow, 
I  must  have  a  sample  of  this  bird's  singing  :  we  may  want  her  yet 
m  the  choir  as  a  leader.  And  now,  stand  still,  Lilian,  I  wish 
to  look  at  you  again.  Nay,  do  not  smile,  I  desire  to  see  your 
face  in  repose." 

I  obeyed  him,  standing  motionless  before  him,  and  looking 
again  full  into  his  calm  blue  eyes  until  he  had  completed  his  inspec- 
tion. "  Self-command  there,"  he  said  low  ;  then  added  aloud, 
.  "she  does  not  resemble  you,  Camilla,  nor  any  one  else  of  her 
kindred  that  I  have  known.  This  is  a  new  face  in  the  household 
of  Bouverie." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  68 

"  She  is  said  to  be  like  her  father,"  my  grandmother  replied  ; 
"  at  least  as  to  feature  ;  and  I  am  glad  of  this — glad  at  least  that 
she  is  not  like  me.  I  am  so  tired  of  my  own  face  that  I  never 
want  to  see  it  repeated." 

"  Except  in  the  glass,  grandmother,"  I  said,  laughing,  as  I  rose 
to  cross  the  room  to  sit  by  Dr.  Quintil — now  weary  of  sauntering 
— accepting  at  last  his  mute  but  oft-repeated  invitation. 

Father  Clare  smiled  at  this  parting  sally — "  Parthian  dart,"  he 
called  it. 

"  She  knows  your  besetting  weakness,  Camilla,  as  well  as  if  she 
were  your  confessor,"  I  heard  him  say. 

"  Oh  !  father,  that  is  all  over  long  ago,"  she  said,  shaking  her 
head  ;  "the  glass  is  now  to  me  only  a  habitual  assistant,  ard  a 
monitor.  The  glory  has  departed  !"  And  she  smiled  sadly 

Dr.  Quintil  wanted  to  lecture  me — and  I  knew  he  called  me  for 
this  purpose — about  my  escapade  of  the  morning,  and  my  want  of 
punctuality  at  the  dinner,  hour. 

"  What  could  have  occurred,  Lilian,  to  justify  such  a  proceed- 
ing ?  What  had  your  grandmother  done  to  wound  you — she  who 
is  usually  so  careful  of  the  feelings  of  every  one  ?"  I  did  not 
answer  this  inquiry,  and  he  went  on  :  "  Do  you  know  that  you 
afflict  her  dreadfully — she  who  already  has  so  much  to  bear,  when 
you  behave  in  this  thoughtless  way  ?  I  can  tell  you,  Lilian,  you 
assume  a  great  responsibility." 

"  And  I — do  you  suppose  I  have  no  feeling  because  you  call 
me  a  child  ?"  I  asked  in  turn.  "  Does  she  think  she  can  whistle 
me  to  her  like  a  little  dog,  when  she  wants  me  ;  and  drive  me 
away,  when  she  is  tired  of  amusing  herself  ?  No,  Dr.  Quintil,  she 
can  never  do  it  again  !" 

"  This  is  very  strange — I  do  not  understand  yon  at  all.     Youi 


64  I'HK  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

grandmother  is  fond  of  you,  that  is  evident ;  kind  hi  her  manner — 
remarkably  so.  Of  what  do  yon  complain  ?" 

"  I  make  no  complaint — I  mean  to  make  none  ;  I  have  only 
expected  too  much — that  was  all ;  but  I  thought,  gold  for  gold, 
and  love  for  love,  was  true,  all  the  world  over.'" 

':  Lilian,  be  patient.  You  do  not  see  into  things  yet,  except 
darkly,  as  through  a  glass  ;  after  a  while  all  will  be  made  plain  to 
you  that  troubles  and  perplexes  you  now.  Your  grandmother 
has  many  sorrows,  and  has  been  truly  'acquainted  with  grief.' 
You  must  make  every  allowance  for  this.  Your  fault  is  over- 
bearing impetuosity — you  must  bridle  this  for  your  own  happiness, 
if  not  for  ours.  But  no  more  of  this.  Have  faith  hi  those  around 
you,  and  be  obedient,  and  peace  will  follow  as  certainly  as  day 
comes  out  of  darkness." 

"Ohl  Dr.  Quintil,"  I  said,  thoroughly  overcome,  "I  could 
have  loved  her  so  dearly,  but  she  would  not  suffer  it  I"  Sobs 
choked  my  utterance,  and  the  tears  rolled  over  my  cheeks. 

"  Command  yourself,  or  you  will  be  observed,"  he  said,  in 
gentle  accents  ;  "  learn  to  command  yourself.  See,  Jasper  is 
watching  you,  and  you  will  make  him  unhappy — he,  poor  fellow, 
so  devoted  to  you." 

"He  is,  indeed  !"  I  murmured,  wiping  my  eyes  quietly.  " I 
would  not  distress  him  for  the  world,  and,  if  I  have  said  anything 
rash,  do,  dear  Dr.  Quintil,  forgive  me — I  am  sorry." 

"All  is  over,"  he  said  hurriedly.  "Let  us  not  allude  to  this 
matter  again  ;  but,  remember,  you  are  always  our  own  dear 
Lilian,  whatever  may  betide." 

And,  rising  from  the  sofa,  he  gaily  challenged  Bishop  Clare  to 
play  chess  with  him.  "Bring  the  board,  Lilian,  love,  from  the 
dining-room,  and  don't  forget  the  men  !  The  part  of  Hamlet  is 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEB1K.  55 

not  left  out  '  by  request,'  this  time.  Jasper,  the  stand,  if  yon 
please  ;  now  place  the  candles — there,  we  are  ready.  Lnther 
against  the  Pope." 

"  A  bad  jest,  Quintil,"  said  the  reverend  man,  shaking  his 
white  locks,  as  he  seated  himself  opposite  his  opponent.  "  A 
sorry  jest,  even  for  a  Puritan  to  utter — and  this  is  saying  much." 

"Now,  woe  to  the  scarlet  woman  !"  said  the  imperturbable  Cal- 
vinist,  as  he  moved  a  white  pawn  two  steps  in  front  of  his  king, 
and  eyed  with  vengeful  glances  the  opposing  queen. 


56  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEREE. 


fj  '          CHAPTER  Vi. 

I  HAD  been  six  months  at  Bouverie  at  the  period  of  Bishop 
Clare's  visit,  delayed,  as  it  was,  by  his  absence  in  the  South.  It 
was  his  custom  to  make  a  quarterly  visit  to  my  grandmother, 
when  not  prevented  by  imperative  duties,  and  remain  some  days 
on  such  occasions.  He  was  indeed  the  only  intimate  friend  she 
possessed  outside  of  her  own  household,  and  had  been  her  spiritual 
guide  from  childhood  ;  and,  in  temporal  affairs,  had  assumed  a 
father's  place  toward  her  on  various  trying  occasions. 

He  was,  at  the  period  of  our  first  acquaintance,  more  than 
seventy  years  old,  nor  had  tune  withheld  one  attribute  of  his  age. 
His  figure,  still  stately  with  its  remnant  of  vigorous  proportion, 
was  bowed  not  more  by  the  weight  of  years  than  that  of  the 
harness  he  had  worn  as  a  vowed  soldier  of  the  Cross.  His  habits 
were  frugal  as  those  of  a  Carmelite  monk,  and  hardy  as  a  High- 
lander's ;  nor  had  he  ever  been  known  to  flinch  or  falter  in  any 
battle  of  life,  from  contumely  down  to  epidemic — for  it  was  on 
this  scale  he  considered  moral  and  physical  evil.  For  the  rest,  he 
was  not  the  metaphysical  scholar  that  many  of  his  order  unques- 
tionably are,  but  had  freely  given  forth  all  his  powers  to  the  great, 
active  and  practical  needs  of  man,  feeling  it  as  much  his  duty  to 
sustain  the  starving  pauper,  when  bread  was  his  to  give,  as  to 
minister  to  the  perishing  soul  ;  and  recognizing  the  imperative 
claims  of  his  religion,  wherever  sorrow  or  misfortune  existed. 

Such  was  this  simple  Apostolic  man.  How  little  I  thought 
when  I  saw  my  still  strong  and  beautiful  grandmother  standing 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF  BOUVERIE.  57 

by  the  venerable  priest,  then  apparently  fast  descending  the  last 
slope  of  life,  and  mentally  contrasted  their  appearance,  that  it 
would  be  his  task  to  lay  her  head  in  the  grave,  with  the  rites  of 
their  ancient  church  !  I  could  not  connect  age  or  infirmity  with 
one  so  self-poised,  so  vigorous,  as  she  seemed  to*  be — so  full  of  a 
nameless  power  that  diffused  itself  over  her  whole  being  and  ap- 
pearance, and  which  nothing  I  have  read  so  well  expressed  as 
Miss  Bailie's  description  of  Jane  de  Montfort,  in  her  tragedy  of 
"  Hate."  ' 

A  page  announces  to  the  Lady  Freberg,  in  the  presence  of  her 
husband,  that  a  lady  waits  without  to  see  her  ;  and  she  questions 
him  about  her,  thus  : 

Lady  Freberg.  "  Page,  is  she  young  or  old  ?" 
Page.  "  Neither,  if  right  I  guess;  but  she  is  fair, 

For  Time  has  laid  his  hand  so  gently  on  her, 

As  he  too,  had  been  awed." 
Lady  Frelerg.  *  Thou  foolish  stripling ! 

She  has  bewitched  thee.     Is  she  large  in  stature  ?" 
Page.  "  So  stately  and  so  graceful  in  her  form ; 

I  thought  at  first  her  stature  was  gigantic, 

But  on  a  near  approach  I  found,  in  truth, 

She  scarcely  did  surpass  the  middle  size." 
Lady  Freberg.  "  What  is  her  garb  ?" 

Page.   ".I  cannot  well  describe  the  fashion  of  it, — 

She  is  not  decked  in  any  gallant  trim ; 

But  seeias  to  me  clad  in  the  usual  weeds 

Of  high  habitual  state." 
Count  Freberg.  (starting  up,) 

"  'Tis  Jane  De  Montfort." 

M 

My  grandmother  was  born  of  Catholic  parents,  and  reared 

under  Catholic  influence  ;    and  it  was  a  wish  of  hers  that  sho 

3* 


58  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

could  not  disguise,  that  I  should  embrace  the  faith  she  reverenced 
— loved,  I  might  have  said  ;  but  for  the  deadness  to  its  tender  im- 
pulses of  which  she  constantly  accused  herself. 

"  I  sometimes  wish,"  I  heard  her  say  one  dajito  Bishop  Clare, 
"  that  I  had  notfceen  trained  to  piety,  so  that  I  might  experience 
the  joy  of  a  uewly  received  religion.  The  freshness  of  a  yet  inex- 
perienced sensation  like  this,  is  what  I  need  to  rouse,  to  revivify  me." 
"  There  is  a  rekindling  of  such  holy  light  in  many  earnest 
natures,"  he  rejoined,  "  where  habit  has  staled  enthusiasm — for 
to  this  error  of  our  very  organization,  all  men  are  subject — more 
pure,  more  beautiful,  than  the  pristine  flame  itself.  This  order  of 
things  is  usually  won  by  prayer  and  humiliation,  for  the  doors  and 
windows  of  the  soul  must  be  set  wide  open  by  such  agents,  before 
the  breath  of  heaven  can  enter,  to  fan  the  smoldering  embers  of 
faith  into  renewed  glory.  But  occasionally  God  condescends  to 
manifest  his  power,  through  miracles,  and  the  dying  shiner,  by  no 
agency  of  his  own,  is  saved  and  brought  to  a  perfect  understanding 
with  his  Creator." 

"  Father,  must  I  wait  for  this  ?" 

There  was  a  dry  agony  in  the  tones  hi  which  she  asked  this 
question. 

By  no  means,  my  daughter.  Seek,  through  the  intervention 
of  Saints,  and  above  all,  through  the  Yirgin,  the  friend  of  all  de- 
solate women,  the  aid  you  tlesire.  In  old  tunes  these  never  failed 
you,  why  should  they  now  ?" 

"  I  know  not,"  she  made  answer  ;  "  I  only  feel  that  they  do 
fail  me  in  my  utmost  extremity,  in  the  apathy  of  my  broken 
hopes,  my  advancing  age." 

"  Camilla,  you  surprise  me.  To  what  can  you  attribute  such 
inconsistency  on  the  part  of  agents  so  divine,  so  infallible  ?" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIK.  59 

I  did  not  hear  her  answer,  it  was  made  in  suppressed  tones  ; 
but  the  surprised  rejoinder  rang  out  clearly  and  sternly. 

"  No,  no  ;  you  are  wrong,  utterly  in  error  1  Discard  the 
thought  as  unworthy  of  your  own  nature,  and  above  all  of  Him, 
the  Great,  the  immaculate  Father  !  Oh,  my  daughter !  my 
heart  bleeds  sorely  for  you  1"  He  groaned  aloud. 

This  conversation  took  place  in  my  grandmother's  chamber, 
and  was,  I  felt,  not  intended  for  my  ear  ;  but  I  had  taken  my 
seat,  fatigued  from  some  momentary  exertion,  on  the  broad  step 
that  led  down  from  the  open  window  to  the  lawn,  and  sat  enjoy- 
ing the  fresh,  balmy  beauty  of  that  April  morning,  attracted 
before  I  knew  it,  to  listen,  by  the  familiar  voices,  and  the  unusual 
words  they  uttered. 

I  rose  now,  'and  went  into  the  room  to  disclose  my  presence  ; 
but  both  speakers  had  disappeared,  and,  though  I  sought  them 
through  the  house,  it  was  not  until  dinner  was  served,  and  the 
summons  of  Fabius  had  drawn  the  remaining  members  of  the 
family  together  in  the  dining-room,  that  Bishop  Clare  and  my 
grandmother  were  again  visible. 

This  ^absence  formed  food  for  conjecture  in  my  mind  "  They 
have  been  at  the  confessional,"  I  thought ;  "  and  that  mysterious 
chamber  is  after  all,  oratory  as  well  as  dressing-room.  I  wonder 
how  many  images  of  saints  and  holy  Madonnas  are  assembled 
there  !  No  ;  this  religion  and  its  symbols  would  never  suit  me  : 
dolls  and  images  are  well  enough  in  their  way,  but  how  can  they 
help  us  to  serve  God  ?  Does  he  care  for  all  this  ceremony  ?" 
And  I  thought  of  the  simple  prayer  of  the  old  kirk,  delivered 
standing,  and  revered  more  than  ever  the  absence  of  form  and  the 
direct  character  of  the  faith  of  that  grandmother  who  had  never 
forbidden  me  to  love  her  ! 


60  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVEK1E. 

Temperament  has,  after  all,  more  to  do  with  religion  that 
theologians  are  willing  to  acknowledge,  and  there  certainly  was 
in  my  very  veins  some  principle  antagonistic  in  its  nature  to 
Catholicism.  I  was  made,  I  think,  of  those  elements  from  which 
new  churches,  new  forms  of  government  have  sprung.  It  was 
natural  to  me  to  investigate  motives,  and  demand  reasons  for 
action  ;  and  if  I  was  a  poor  logician,  I  was  at  all  events,  no  so- 
phist, no  self-deluder  ; — what  I  believed  was  a  part  of  my  own 
being. 

I  have  heard  people  talk  of  choosing  a  religion,  as  they  would 
select  a  garment,  and  marvelled  at  the  fallacy  !  Oh,  who  can 
choose  a  conviction  ;  or  who  would  not,  if  this  were  possible,  be- 
lieve in  the  comforting  doctrines  of  the  universalist  or  the  epicurean  ? 

No  !  religion  is  made  of  sterner  stuff !  We  cannot  banish  or 
deny  the  presence  of  evil  ;  it  is  here — we  can  only  contend 
against  it,  with  what  limited  power  we  have,  and  what  divine 
assistance  we  receive.  We  cannot  shut  out  the  bitter  belief  in  the 
vast  inequality  of  human  lots,  prate  as  philosophers  may  of  com- 
pensation on  earth  ;  nor  fail  to  perceive  the  absence  of  all  justice 
in  the  visible  dispensations  of  Providence.  Else  would  no  virtu- 
ous man  go  down  in  the  fiery  sea  of  sorrow  and  adversity  ;  else 
would  no  icy-hearted  villain  prosper  !  That  these  things  are,  none 
can  deny — that  noble  lives  are  failures,  that  base  ones  are  crowned 
with  success,  let  Kossuth — let  Louis  Napoleon  testify,  for  want 
of  fitter  examples,  known  to  all  men  !  But  we  need  not  stop 
with  public  characters  like  these.  In  every  sphere  of  life  there 
aro  innumerable  instances  of  this  kind,  and  when  we  try  to  per- 
suade ourselves  that  there  is  no  truth  in  the  dark  doctrines  of 
fate  and  election,  let  us  reflect  on  these  manifest  inconsistencies, 
before  our  daily  eyes. 


THTC   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE.  61 

Yet  who  wants  to  believe  in  these  doctrines — who  would  incline 
to  it  if  it  were  possible  to  waive  them  away  by  any  process  of 
human  reasoning  or  self-deception  !  And  why  should  any  belief, 
after  all,  however  gloomy  and  oppressive  in  its  tendency,  make 
us,  for  one  moment,  falte*  in  our  faith  in,  and  perfect  love  for 
God? 

For  the  future  is  in  his  hand  of  which  we  know  nothing  now, 
and  the  instinct  is  in  all  hearts,  to  trust  in  its  mighty  develop- 
ments, its  compensations,  its  unerring  fidelity  to,  and  correspon- 
dence with  the  past,  so  that  they  may  be  said  to '  represent  the 
two  scales  of  a  balance — one  before  us,  with  its  heavy  and  uncom- 
prehended  measure  of  good  or  ill — the  other  with  its  unseen 
freight  far  in  eternity. 

Yet  happy  those  who,  closing  their  eyes  on  its  complicated  in- 
consistency, and  seeing  its  sublime  comfort,  and  loving  charity 
alone,  bow  down  and  worship  at  the  foot  of  the  Catholic  cross  1 
Happy  those  who  deem  that  sin  can  be  forgiven  by  prtfxy,  and 
the  gates  of  heaven  entered  by  death-bed  repentance  !  These 
are  the  beings  whom  the  rapture  of  heaven  possesses  even  on 
earth,  and  who  bear  most  often,  lightly  the  burden  of  sin  and 
sorrow  so  crushing  to  the  sterner  thinkers.  Nature  had  never  in- 
tended me  to  be  one  of  these. 

So  the  teachings  of  Bishop  Clare  entered  not  deep  into  my 
spirit,  and  I  still  continued  to  repeat  the  simple  prayers,  and 
to  read  the  daily  chapter  in  the  Bible,  as  my  grandmother 
DC  Courcy  had  taught  me  to  do,  and  to  believe  that  if  I  did  the 
very  best  in  my  power,  God  would  take  care  of  the  rest;  for  my 
fate  was  in  his  hands  only  who  made  the  sea  and  the  earth.  I 
had  nothing  to  do  with  my  own  life,  or  with  the  time  of  death, 
Mien  wherefore  great  concern  for  the  one,  or  fear  for  the  other  ? 


62  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

God  had  given  me  a  room,  grandmother  De  Courcy  said,  in  his 
great  palace  of  the  world,  and  I  must  sweep  it  and  set  it  in  constant 
order;  but  outside  of  that  he  would  not  permit  me  to  go,  either 
in  life  or  death,  unless  he  wanted  my  services  beyond  its  limits. 
Then  he  would  let  me  know  in  his  own  way!  And  with  this 
quaint  and  primitive  allegory  I  was  satisfied. 

There  were  no  undue  efforts  made  to  change  my  habits  of 
thought  or  worship,  by  those  who  believed  so  differently,  or  to 
confirm  the  convictions  which  had  struck  such  deep  root  into  my 
childish  mind,  by  him  who  held  the  same  tenets.  These  things 
were  left  to  my  own  reason,  my  own  inclination,  with  the  delicacy 
inherent  in  high-bred  people,  so  thoroughly  at  war  with  fanaticism 
that  it  shrinks  from  the  responsibility  of  proselytism. 

Strangely  enough,  Jasper,  who  might,  from  the  sympathy  natural 
between  the  young,  have  exerted  a  greater  amount  of  influence 
over  my  religious  views  than  any  other  member  of  the  household, 
was  himself  disinclined  to  Catholicism,  in  spite  of  his  love  for  his 
mother  and  reverence  for  Bishop  Clare,  and  the  instructions  he 
had  received  from  both.  He  inclined  openly  to  the  faith  of 
Dr.  Quintil,  nor  did  this  Calvinistic  predilection  of  his  seem  to 
have  caused  him  one  reproach  on  the  part  of  my  grandmother. 
It  was  a  subject,  however,  on  which  he  rarely  touched,  as  was 
certainly,  under  the  circumstances,  most  wise  and  even  delicate, 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOUVEEIE.  63 


CHAPTER  VII. 

I  HAD  hoped  that  when  Bishop  Clare's  departure  had  left  us 
leisure  to  be  alone  together  again,  my  grandmother  would  refer 
to  our  former  conversation,  and  recall  the  request  she  had  made 
me.  I  had  determined  to  be  magnanimous,  and  forgive  the  injury 
she  had  done  my  feelings  by  putting  aside  my  affection,  when  the 
time  of  explanation  arrived.  I  waited  vainly — the  concessions  I 
expected  were  never  made;  and  although  her  manner,  her  con- 
stant kindness,  left  me  nothing  to  complain  of,  I  was,  I  confess, 
disappointed  and  even  disheartened.  It  was  my  nature  to  love 
passionately,  exclusively.  Jasper  was  dear  to  me;  Dr.  Quintil 
possessed  my  confidence  and  respect,  and  even  affection;  but  for 
my  grandmother  I  had  reserved  the  full  cup  of  my  devotion, 
linked  with  the  sentiment  of  filial  love,  more  potent  than  any 
other  in  my  peculiar  organization,  and  which  was  now  wholly 
wasted  and,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  unrecognized. 

Yet  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts  to 
smooth  over  affection  with  the  gloss  of  duty,  there  did  exist  for 
me  some  stronger  sentiment  than  she  exhibited  beneath  the  calm 
cheerful  equipoise  of  her  daily  manner.  I  read  it  i»ker  eyefcjo 
the  tones  of  her  voice  when  she  least  suspected  them  of  betraying 
her,  and  in  that  quiet  vigilance  with  regard  to  all  I  did  or  said, 
that  to  the  close  observer  is  such  an  unerring  indication  of  deep 
interest. 

I  had  gone  into  the  drawing-room  with  Bianca  a  few  days  after 
the  termination  of  Bishop  Clare's  visit,  to  assist  that  notable  person 


64  THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIB. 

in  replacing  the  holland  coverings  of  the  elaborately  embroidered 
chairs  and  sofas,  and  the  protecting  gauzes  over  the  picture- 
frames,  removed  in  honor  of  our  guest,  when  the  conversation 
I  am  about  to  relate  occurred  between  us.  It  is  hardly  worth 
recording  here,  except  as  far  as  it  gives  a  clue  to  later  revelations, 
and  gave  at  the  time  an  impetus  to  my  imagination,  difficult  to 
check  even  when  reason  and  duty  nerved  me  to  the  effort. 

"  You  say,  my  grandmother  embroidered  all  of  these  chairs, 
Bianca!  How  long  was  she  about  it,  I  wonder.  What  a  time  it 
must  have  taken  her  to  cover  the  whole  canvas  with  worsted  work 
in  this  elaborate  way." 

"  They  were  on  hand,  Miss  Lilian,  the  best  part  of  nine  years, 
and  I  heard  Dr.  Quintillian  say  that  the  French  Gobelins  could 
produce  nothing  finer." 

I  laughed — I  knew  what  she  was  aiming  at — I  had  read  of  the 
Gobelin  tapestry. 

"  You  needn't  laugh,  Miss  Lilian,  in  that  scornful  way,  if  you 
are  book-learned,  nor  think  yourself  above  such  valuable  work  as 
this !  It  is  something  to  be  proud  of,  to  be  able  to  cover  a 
whole  set  of  furniture  just  with  the  work  of  one  soft  pair  of 
hands.  I  wish  you  were  just  one  half  as  industrious  as  your 
grandmother." 

"  Oh,  Bianca,  times  are  changed.  Women  write  books  and 
lint  pictu^s  now,  instead  of  wearing  out  their  eyes  and  patience 
ich  tedious  embroidery;  and  the  day  will  come,  I  believe, 
when  they  will  keep  wooden  seamstresses  (automatons  they  call 
them,  Bianca;  an  old  man  has  taught  one  lately  to  play  chess  and 
blow  the  trumpet  even),  to  sew  up  all  their  seams,  while  they 
amuse  themselves,  and  read  new  books,  and  plant  flowers,  and 
write  poetry." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  65 

"  La,  Miss  Lilian  !  your  talk  seems  wild  to  me  sometimes,  and  - 
when  I  hear  you  predicting  such  strange  things,  do  you  know, 
child" — and  she  looked  hard  at  me  while  she  paused  in  her  occu- 
pation— "  you  remind  me  (the  land  forgive  me  for  even  thinking 
of  such  a  likeness,  but  it  is  the  solemn  truth jjof  Mr.  Erastus, 
your  grandfather." 

"And  why  should  I  not  remind  you  of  him,  Bianca,  and  why 
should  you  be  afraid  to  say  so  ?  Does  not  his  blood  flow  in  my 
veins  ?  Am  I  not  his  lineal  descendant  ?  After  all,  what  do  these 
evasions,  this  determined  silence,  mean  ?  Speak  to  me  ;  it  is  my 
right,  and  I  will  know.  What  was  his  story?  Tell  me  of  his 
life,  of  his  death?  How  did  he  die,  Bianca  ?"  And  I  drew  near 
to  her,  and  laying  my  hand  on  her  arm,  looked  steadfastly  into 
her  eyes.  "Say,  did  he  take  his  own  life,  as  I  have  half-suspected, 
or  was  he  murdered,"  and  I  prolonged  the  word  with  its  vague 
horror,  dropping  my  voice  to  a  dreary  whisper. 

"  Neither,  Miss  Lilian,  dear,"  she  replied,  greatly  agitated. 
"  For  pity's  sake  do  not  ask  me  anything  more.  Mrs.  Bouverie 
would  never  forgive  me  if  she  knew  that  I  had  ever  mentioned 
his  name  to  you." 

I  knew  that  I  had  to  do  with  a  weak  woman,  in  whose  very 
timidity  of  organization  lay  her  only  strength ;  for  to  her,  discretion 
came  through  fear,  the  most  powerful  sentiment  of  which  she  was 
capable,  probably,  next  to  an  unquestioning  fidelity  of  habit. 

"  Bianca,  there  is  one  thing  I  must  know;  you  told  me  to-day, . 
when  I  admired  this  beautiful  new  carpet,  that  it  had  been 
recently  laid  on  the  floor,  and  that  the  room  had  been  closed  for 
years  until  I  came,  when  the  stained  carpet  was  removed  to  make 
way  for  this.  You  shuddered  when  you  spoke  of  those  stains, 
and  the  ineffaceable  nature  of  them.  Bianca!  were  they  caused 


66  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVEBIE. 

by  his  blood  ?  Did  he  meet  his  death  in  this  room  ?  Speak  to 
me;  I  tell  you,  this  mu;h  I  must  know." 

"  No,  no,  Miss  Lilian  dear,  no  drop  of  his  blood  was  ever 
spilled  in  this  ho^se  that  I  know  of,  but  I  cannot,  cannot  tell  you 
another  word.  2  must  not,  I  dare  not,  Miss  Lilian;"  and  she 
sat  down  pale  and  terrified,  as  if  overcome  by  the  very  thought 
of  what  she  might  be  tempted  to  reveal. 

I  pitied  her  weakness,  yet  respected  her  scruples,  and  forbore 
from  further  questioning,  although  the  excitement  under  which  I 
was  laboring  flushed  my  cheek,  and  disqualified  me  for  a  time  from 
rendering  her  further  assistance. 

At  last  I  rose  up,  seeing  that  she  was  preparing  with  some 
hesitation  to  ascend  the  slight  step-ladder  she  had  brought  with 
her,  in  order  to  cover  the  picture  she  had  placed  it  before  ;  and 
feeling  that  my  firmer,  more  active  foot  could  better  poise  my 
<rame  on  the  rather  unsteady  height  of  that  somewhat  hazardous 
contrivance  for  the  old  and  feeble,  I  took  from  her  hand  the  cur- 
lain  of  barred  muslin,  and  ran  lightly  up  the  steps.  She  was 
evidently  relieved  by  this  volunteer  enterprise  of  mine,  and  stood 
with  her  hand  on  the  cross-bar  that  sustained  the  ladder,  while 
she  praised  my  activity  and  forethought,  and  paying  little  atten- 
tion to  her  words,  I  contemplated  at  my  leisure  the  peculiar  face 
before  me,  which,  hanging  in  a  deep  recess,  had  until  now  almost 
escaped  my  attention. 

It  was  that  of  a  powerful  old  man,  furrowed,  dark,  ugly,  ma- 
licious— with  its  small,  black,  rat-like  eyes,  and  sneering  lip,  and 
shapeless  nose,  and  bold,  prominent  forehead,  surmounted  by  its 
crop  of  short,  bristling  grey  hair,  that  grew  in  a  harsh,  unwaving 
line,  in  exact  correspondence  with  the  straight,  shaggy  brows 
beneath — beetle  brows,  I  think  they  call  them.  The  whole 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.  67 

aspect  was  that  of  a  mean  tyrant — Louis  XI.  might  have  looked 
just  so. 

I  knew  at  once  that  the  evil  countenance  of  old  Ursa,  or 
Usher,  Bouverie — for  such  was  his  real  name — scowled  full 
upon  me. 

"  Oh  !  Bianca,  what  a  horrible  old  man  he  must  have  been. 
Let  me  get  down  !"  I  exclaimed,  as  I  put  the  last  pin  in  the 
covering  ;  "  I  am  afraid  of  him,  even  on  canvas — how,  how  in  the 
world,  did  my  grandmother  ever  manage  to  be  fond  of  him  ?" 

"  She  never  was,  that  I  know  of,"  said  Bianca,  gravely  ;  "  no 
one  ever  was  ;  but  he  almost  worshipped  her,  partly  because  she 
looked  like  his  wife — her  mother's  aunt — as  he  fancied,  and  partly 
because  she  saved  his  life,  when  a  little  girl  only  ten  years  old,  by 
knocking  aside  the  hand  that  held  a  pistol  to  his  breast,  with  ber 
slight  battledore.  To  be  sure,  Pat  McCormick  was  drunk  when 
he  attacked  the  master,  and  weak,  or  the  child  could  never  have 
so  disarmed  him  ;  but,  any  way,  the  courage  she  showed,  and  the 
true  feeling,  made  their  way  to  the  rough  old  man's  heart — for  it 
seems  he  had  one,  after  all — and  he  loved  her,  and  left  her  all  ho 
had  to  leave,  for  his  English  estate  was  entailed  on  Mister  Eras- 
tus  ;  at  least,  that  is  the  only  way  I  can  account  for  his  affection." 

"  Was  it  the  cook's  son  of  husband  who  attempted  this  out- 
rage, Bianca  !" 

"  Oh  !  her  husband  ;  the  overseer  then,  but  he  never  showed  his 
face  here  again  after  that,  and  died  soon  afterward  in  an  alms- 
house  ;  and  his  son,  Michael,  took  to  the  same  bad  ways,  and 
went  to  sea,  and  married,  maybe — who  knows  ? — and  brought 
back  that  simpleton  to  pester  our  lives  out,  just  before  his  death 
— a  part  of  the  Bouverie  luck,  you  know,  Miss  Lilian,  is  Pat 
McCormick." 


68  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIK. 

I  had  before  admired  the  beautiful  heads  of  my  grandmother 
and  Jasper,  painted  hi  clouds,  and  still  recognizable,  although 
youth  had  belonged  to  one,  and  infancy  to  the  other,  when  they 
were  executed  ;  and  the  noble  half-length  portrait  of  Dr.  Luther 
Quintillian,  with  bis  Saxon  face,  and  clear  blue  eyes — the  elder 
brother  of  our  Dr.  Paul — which  occupied  the  recess  opposite  to 
that  containing  Ursa,  or  Usher,  Bouverie's  picture.  But  there 
was  one  large  canvas  hi  the  room,  hanging  over  the  fire-place, 
which  fronted  the  door  of  entrance  from  the  hall,  on  which  I  had 
never  looked.  The  heavy,  black  cloth  curtain  that  hung  closely 
over  it,  revealed  only  the  corners  of  the  elaborately  carved  and 
gilded  frame  that  surrounded  it,  and  bade  defiance  to  all  but  the 
most  overt  act  of  curiosity  ;  and  this,  the  mood  I  was  then  in 
urged  me  to  attempt. 

I  had  an  instinctive  knowledge  that  this  canvas  contained  the 
likeness  of  my  grandfather,  and  had  felt  thrilled  and  impressed  by 
its  presence,  even  veiled  as  it  was  by  the  sweeping,  pall-like 
curtain  above  it.  But  when  I  lifted  the  light  step-ladder,  and, 
placing  it  before  the  chimney,  prepared  to  ascend  it,  hi  order  to 
put  aside  the  interposing  veil,  Bianca  seized  and  held  me  with  all 
her  strength. 

"  Child,  child,"  she  said,  "  you  do  not  know  what  you  would  be 
at !  No  hand  has  touched  that  curtain  since  that  night — no  hand 
shall  prosper  that  ever  touches  it  again." 

"  Bianca,"  I  said,  standing  perfectly  passive  hi  her  grasp,  "  1 
mean  to  see  that  picture  as  surely  as  my  life  is  spared  to  me.  If 
you  prevent  me  now,  I  will  come  back  another  tune,  even  at  the 
risk  of  discovery." 

There  was  something  in  my  manner,  perhaps,  or  in  the  low,  de- 
termined accents  of  my  voice,  that  impressed  her  with  my  sh> 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE.  69 

cerity  ;  her  grasp  gradually  relaxed,  and  she  turned  away  sorrow- 
fully. 

"  Do  as  you  will,  Miss  Lilian,  for  you  are  a  hard  and  headstrong 
child,  and  not  to  be  led  by  reason,  or  persuasion  either ;  but  I 
wash  my  hands  of  it  all,  and  maybe  I  shall  tell  your  grandmother 
or  Dr.  Quintil." 

"  I  do  not  care  whom  you  tell,  Bianca,  or  what  any  one  says, 
though  it  pains  me  to  be  scolded.  In  the  frame  of  mind  I  am  in 
to-day,  I  would  see  that  picture  even  were  my  grandmother  De 
Courcy  to  rise  in  spirit,  and  forbid  me  to  look  upon  it.  There — 
you  have  my  determination  !" 

"  Oh,  Miss  Lilian,  dear,  I  pity  you,  to  be  so  persevering  and  so 
perverse  !  No  good  will  ever  come  to  you  unless  you  drive  out  this 
demon  of  self-will  that  possesses  you.  I  will  speak  to  Bishop  Clare." 

By  this  time  I  had  ascended  the  ladder,  and  thrown  back  the 
curtain,  and  now  came  hastily  down,  that  I  might  stand  on  the 
floor,  and  survey  the  painting  to  the  best  advantage,  denying 
myself  even'  the  privilege  of  a  glance  toward  it  while  I  was  un- 
veiling it,  lest  the  after  effect  should  be  destroyed. 

I  clasped  my  hands,  and  stood  thrilled  before  the  superb 
majesty  of  the  presence  which  I  had  thus  evoked  from  thick  dark- 
ness. I  saw  a  man,  dressed  in  furs,  dark,  distinguished,  elegant 
in  appearance,  standing  with  his  arm  thrown  over  the  jet-black 
neck  of  a  horse,  the  head  and  fore-shoulder  of  which  appeared 
only  on  the  canvas. 

I  had  not  time  to  study  the  picture  as  I  could  have  wished  to 
do,  before  the  curtain,  insecurely  fastened  back  by  my  hasty  hand, 
settled  again  above  it,  in  heavy,  dropping  folds,  as  gradually  as 
though  arranged  by  unseen  fingers,  and  the  vision  was  shut  away 
from  my  longing,  straining  eyes. 


70  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVERIB. 

"  See,  Miss  Lilian  !"  said  Bianca,  "  you  have  offended  your 
grandfather's  very  spirit,  and  the  veil  falls  between  you  forever." 
"  Yes,  forever !"  I  said,  with  a  sudden  change  of  mood  ;  "  I  will 
never  raise  it  again,  I  trust ;  I  hope,  at  least,  I  never  will.  I 
have  done  wrong  to  look  on  anything  my  grandmother's  hoube 
contains,  without  her  approbation.  But  do  not  tell  her,  Bianca. 
It  would  do  no  good.  It  is  well,  perhaps,  after  all,  that  7,  his 
child,  should  have  seen  his  face  at  last,"  I  murmured.  "  I  must 
have  looked  once,  or  died  I" 

"  We  will  go  out,  now,  Miss  Lilian,  dear,"  she  said,  seeing  that 
]  still  stood  wrapped  in  dreams  before  the  mantel,  with  its  sable 
hangings  above  bringing  out  into  such  strong  relief  the  whiteness 
and  purity  of  the  sculptured  marble  of  which  it  was  composed, 
and  the  Caryatides  that  upheld  it  on  their  hands  ;  "we  will  go 
out,  now  ;  the  covers  are  all  replaced,  and  I  must  take  the  key  of 
the  drawing-room  to  your  grandmother,  until  Bishop  Clare  comes 
again." 

"First  tell  rne,  Bianca,  how  long  has  that  black  cloth  curtain 
hung  over  that  portrait  ?" 

"  Ever  since  the  news  came  of  the  master's  death  in  Russia, 
nearly  twelve  years,  I  think,  next  month,  Miss  Lilian." 

"  He  died  in  Russia,  then,"  I  said,  catching  at  the  words  she 
had  carelessly  dropped.  "In  battle,  perhaps? — by  violence,  I 
know.  Tell  me,  Bianca,  I  beseech  you,  tell  me,"  and  I  clasped 
her  hands  persuasively  in  mine,  "  how  my  grandfather  died  ?  I 
have  a  right  to  know." 

She  shook  her  head  :  "  You  will  know  all  some  day,"  she  said, 
"  and  then  you  will  wish  yourself  back  again  where  you  are  this 
morning.  Such  knowledge  will  burden  you,  Miss  Lilian,  burden 
all  the  rest  of  your  life.  But  come  along,  it  grows  late,  and  I 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.  71 

have  not  made  the  custard  for  dinner  yet  ;  besides,  I  heard  the 
door  of  your  grandmother's  room  open  just  now,  and  she  will  be 
wanting  you." 

It  was  her  habit  to  close  her  chamber  door  for  a  few  hours  each 
day,  whether  in  the  afternoon  or  evening  ;  but  to-day  my  absence 
with  Bianca  had  determined  the  time  of  her  seclusion.  It  seemed 
to  me  to  belong  to  the  dignity  and  peculiarity  of  her  character, 
that  she  should  thus  retire  into  self-communing  for  a  portion  of 
each  day,  and  I  have  elsewhere  said  that  I  had  felt  strengthened 
and  uplifted  by  the  self-reliance  this  very  exile  had  impressed 
on  me. 

I  found  her  to-day,  preparing  to  walk  to  the  remote  vegetable 
gardens  of  her  domain.  The  comfort  of  the  household  depended 
greatly,  through  the  summer,  on  the  successful  planting  of  the 
spring  garden,  and  although  Smith  was  an  efficient  gardener,  she 
preferred  superintending  the  quantity  and  quality  of  the  seed  he 
planted,  part  of  the  result  of  which  he  disposed  of  by  contract  with 
his  employer,  for  his  own  benefit. 

I  could  not  help  saying,  as  we  returned  from  our  walk,  "  Grand- 
mother, I  do  not  like  Smith's  face,  nor  that  of  his  wife  either. 
They  look  mean  and  wicked,  both." 

"They  are  drunkards,  lam  afraid,"  she  replied  ;  "  but  they  do 
my  work  well  so  far,  and  I  esteem  permanence  as  a  great  good 
with  regard  to  servants.  They  will  never  leave  me,  I  think." 

"  And  I  do  not  like  their  ways,"  I  added  ;  "  they  are  so  watch- 
ful, grandmother,  and  though  they  never  look  one  in  the  face, 
t^iey  see  everything  with  their  underhand  glances." 

"  It  is  a  habit  of  vulgar  people,  Lilian,  to  look  in  this  furtive 
way.  A  clear  and  steady  gaze  is  an  evidence  of  good  breeding 
and  native  nobility  of  character.  We  cannot  expect  much  of  the 


72  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

former  from  people  like  the  Smiths,  and  as  to  the  latter,  I  think 
with  you,  they  do  not  happen  to  possess  it.  I  have  heard  an  ob- 
servant man  say,  that  in  travelling  hi  Europe  he  avoided  as  much 
as  possible,  all  persons  who  wore  spectacles,  as  he  found  they 
were  the  usual  disguise  of  sharpers.  The  eye  tells  the  truth  in 
spite  of  training  ;  but  the  other  features  may  be  commanded  and 
disciplined  to  deceive." 

"  I  noticed  to-day  when  Smith  laughed  so  loud  and  long  at 
something  I  was  saying  to  his  wife,  that  his  eyes  never  changed 
in  their  expression  ;  but  were  as  cold  and  hard  as  if  his  lips  were 
not  laughing.  That  is  a  bad  sign,  I  think." 

"What  an  observer  and  physiognomist  you  are,  Lilian,"  she 
said,  laughing.  "  Perhaps,  some  day,  you  may  put  all  these  mat- 
ters in  a  book  and  surprise  us,  as  Miss  Burney  did  her  father 
and  family,  by  becoming  an  authoress  !" 

"  Oh,  no,  grandmother  ;  I  am  sure  there  is  nothing  to  make  a 
book  about  at  Bouverie,  so  quiet  and  uniform  as  everything  is 
about  us.  It  would  be  hard  for  me  to  imagine  myself  an  en- 
chanted princess,  and  Jasper  a  prince  deprived  of  his  throne  ;  or 
you  a  banished  queen  :  or  Dr.  Quiutil  a  bloodthirsty  conspirator, 
hiding  away  from  justice  ;  or  Pat  McCormick  an  evil  genius  ; 
or" 

"  Lilian,  it  is  not  of  materials  like  these  modern  books  are 
made.  You  run  on  wildly,  your  ideas  are  so  peculiar,"  She 
stopped — she  gasped. 

I  looked  at  her  amazed  by  the  hardness  and  dryness  of  her 
voice,  a  moment  since,  so  mellow,  so  affectionate  ;  and  saw  that 
the  rich  color  that  made  the  chief  characteristic  of  her  still  re- 
markable beauty,  had  died  from  her  cheek,  and  that  her  features 
v  ere  locked  and  -sharpened,  as  if  with  agony. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKIE.  73 

"  Lilian,"  she  said,  a  moment  later  ;  "  let  me  lean  on  you,  I 
am  indisposed  ;  my  heart  beats  wildly.  Do  not  speak  to  me — it 
will  pass — I  am  often  thus."  And  in  silence  and  sadness  of  spirit, 
and  unavailing  conjectures  on  my  part,  the  walk  was  finished. 

But  when  I  entered  the  dining-room  a  few  minutes  after  our 
return,  every  trace  of  suffering  had  passed  from  my  grandm other's 
features,  and  she  wore  again  her  look  of  almost  youthful  anima- 
tion. Nor  would  a  superficial  observer  beholding  her  at  the  head 
of  her  table  dispensing  hospitality  with  such  high-bred  grace,  and 
wearing  her  own  rich,  dark  hair  in  profuse  and  careless  abundance, 
have  believed  that  youth  had  left  her  long  ;  and  that  middle  age 
itself  was  fast  passing  away  with  the  near  approach  of  half  a 
century. 

I  had  almost  forgotten,  however,  that  one  seal  of  time  had  been 
set  indelibly  on  her  stately  head.  A  small  grey  plume  seemed  to 
have  been  laid  flat  among  her  dark  tresses  so  as  to  cross  her 
coiffure  horizontally,  and  was  perfectly  defined  and  separated 
from  the  neighboring  locks  ;  otherwise,  as  I  have  said,  dark  and 
glossy. 

This  silver  tress  might  have  been  considered  symbolical  of  that 
deep-seated  sadness  and  reserve  that  threaded  her  otherwise  social 
and  cordial  temperament.  For  underlying  all  her  determined 
cheerfulness,  and  her  dutiful  occupation  of  time  and  energy,  there 
was  undeniably  something  dead  and  despairing  ;  a  stagnation  of 
life  and  feeling  at  their  very  sources,  that  like  water  concealed  by 
pond  lilies,  sent  forth  its  depressing  miasma  beyond  all  the  bloom 
and  beauty  that  covered  it. 


V 
74-  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUYERIE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

IT  struck  me  as  a  peculiarity  not  consistent  with  her  usual  care 
and  economy,  that,  although  my  grandmother's  garb  was  simple 
and  uniform — consisting,  as  it  invariably  did,  of  black  silk,  or 
some  other  material  of  the  same  sombre  hue,  relieved  only  by  the 
handkerchief  and  collar  of  fine  white  muslin  or  lace  she  always 
wore,  with  its  jet  clasp  at  collar  and  throat — rich  dresses,  of  many 
colors  and  fashions,  were  disposed — carelessly  enough,  I  thought — 
in  her  wardrobe. 

At  first  I  supposed  she  might  be  intending  to  sit  for  her  picture, 
as  my  grandmother  De  Courcy  had  done  on  one  occasion  ;  and  I 
remembered  how,  long  before  the  painter  arrived,  her  maid  laid 
out,  one  by  one,  all  those  splendid  dresses  she  had  long  ceased  to 
wear,  to  tempt  her  to  array  herself  as  became  her  rank.  But  she 
chose  the  worn  black  velvet  gown,  after  all,  with  the  close  lace 
cap,  that  became  her  so  well,  and  which  I  knew  as  a  part  of  her- 
self ;  and,  so  dressed,  submitted  herself  to  the  artist's  hands  to  be 
painted  for  my  sake.  The  picture,  she  had  bequeathed  to  me, 
hung  at  my  bed-head,  and  was  to  me  a  guarding  presence  as 
potent  as  Saint  or  Virgin  could  have  been  to  a  Catholic  worship- 
per, and  far  more  dear,  for  I  have  elsewhere  intimated  that  filial 
duty  was  the  peculiar  channel  in  which  my  affections  tended  most 
fully  and  perfectly. 

"  Grandmother,"  I  said,  one  day,  "  I  saw  a  beautiful  black  lace 
dress,  with  gold  flowers  embroidered  over  it,  lying  on  your  bed 
yesterday,  spread  out  as  if  you  meant  to  wear  it  to  a  gay  party. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERDS.  75 

If  yon  T*ill  give  it  to  me,  I  will  put  it  by  carefully,  and  sew  tissue- 
paper  over  the  flowers,  and  save  it  to  shine  in,  when  I  am  a  young 
lady." 

"  No,  Lilian,  not  that !  God  forbid  that  you  should  ever  wear 
that  fated  dress — that  blood-stained  garb,  which  must  lie  with  me 
in  the  grave  !  Years  have  passed  since  I  wore  it,  or  looked  upon, 
it  before.  Years  may  pass  before  I  wear  it  again.  It  will  be  a 
strange  sight,  Lilian,  to  see  clay  wrapped  in  such  a  shroud  ;  but  to 
this  use  aloue  can  that  magnificent  dress  ever  be  consigned  again." 

"  You  have  many  fine  dresses,  grandmother  ;  had  we  not  better 
pack  them  away  ?  Perhaps  you  may  need  them  again  some  day, 
or  perhaps  " — I  smiled,  and  hesitated. 

"  Or  perhaps  they  may  be  shaped  to  suit  my  Lilian's  slender 
form.  Was  that  your  thought,  my  prudent  little  Scot  ?" 

"I  don't  know  how  else  I  shall  ever  have  fine  dresses,"  I 
answered  ;  "  for  I  know  that  I  shall  be  quite  poor,  and  it  will  take 
all  my  money  to  buy  images,  and  stuffed  birds,  and  poems,  and 
shells — Indian  shells,  grandmother — with  their  splendid  hues,  more 
lovely  even  than  flowers." 

"  Flowers  have  life,  Lilian  ;  shells  are  but  dead  things  at  best — 
poor  outcasts  of  vitality  !  I  never  have  cared  much  for  them. 
But,  after  all,  why  buy  such  things  at  all  ?  You  spea,k  of  them 
as  if  they  were  necessary  to  you  ;  whereas  they  are  at  best  the 
merest  whims  of  luxury.  Good  clothing,  you  know,  is  a  requisi- 
tion of  society  that  every  lady  must  comply  with — you  among 
the  rest." 

"  Then  I  will  dress  in  calico,  and  give  up  society  ;  for  I  would 
so  much  rather  indulge  my  tastes,  than  dress  to  please  other  people, 
Indeed,  grandmother,"  I  added,  with  a  half  scornful  air,  "I 
believe  I  have  very  little  native  turn  for  the  world." 


76  FHE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

She  laughed.  "  What  do  you  know  of  the  world,  Lilian,  that 
you  should  abjure  it  so  promptly  ?  Who  made  you  such  a  phi- 
losopher ?  How  will  all  those  strange  thoughts  that  puzzle  your 
own  brain  as  well  as  mine,  find  vent,  unless  you  go  out  and  con- 
rerse  freely  with  your  fellow  beings  ?" 

"  In  poetry,  grandmother,"  I  said  so  gravely,  that  the  laugh 
was  checked  upon  her  lips,  and  faded  from  her  eyes  ;  and  now  she 
looked  upon  my  face  with  mournful  tenderness,  as  she  put  back 
my  hair  from  my  compact,  yet  not  lofty,  forehead,  and,  shaking 
her  head,  said  slowly  : 

"  Child,  child,  have  we  reduced  you  to  this  extremity  ?" 

"Not  yet,"  I  said  ;  "not  yet.  I  am  only  practising  to  be  a 
poet ;  the  time  has  not  come,  but  it  will — it  must,  grandmother  ; 
[  feel  it  here." 

And  I  laid  my  hand  on  my  heart  solemnly. 

"  Ah  !  heart-poetry,  Lilian,  not  that  of  the  brain — a  caprice,  a 
fancy,  child — put  it  away.  Don't  you  know  poetical  women  are 
never  happy  ?" 

"  Are  you  poetical,  grandmother  ?"  I  asked,  unconscious  of  the 
Bting  my  words  conveyed. 

"  No,  Lilian,  no  !  That  only  was  wanting  to  complete  the 
rest.  No  tyrant  of  the  intellect  has  ever  tortured  my  thoughts 
nntil  they  fled  to  the  crowd  for  sympathy.  What  I  have  had  to 
bear  I  have  made  no  moan  over." 

"  I  will  write  poems  for  money  and  for  fame,  grandmother — 
not  for  sympathy  ;  and  I  will  buy  those  splendid  dresses  for 
myself,  perhaps,  that  you  refuse  to  give  me,  with  my  own  toil. 
Since  you  will  not  be  my  godmother,  and  touch  me  with  your 
wand,  and  make  me  a  princess,  I  will  turn  fairy,  myself,"  I  said, 
laughing. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  77 

"  What  a  type  you  have  chosen,  Lilian  !  Remember  how, 
having  attained  her  wish,  her  own  disobedience  and  want  of  faith 
converted  Cinderella  into  a  mass  of  rags  again  ;  and  how  darkly 
she  sat  down  amid  the  ashes  of  her  hopes,  and  the  cinders  of  her 
remorse." 

"  Ay,  but  grandmother,  she  rose  out  of  these  again  to  be  great 
and  happy." 

"  True,  true,  child  ;  but  the  story  fails  there.  All  women  have 
not  been  so  rewarded  for  long-suffering  and  meek  patience." 

"  You,  for  instance,  grandmother,"  I  said  impulsively — imperti- 
nently, perhaps. 

"  I,  child  I"  She  spoke  with  a  cold  surprise.  "  Alas,  I  have 
never  been  patient — never  experienced  the  true  sense  of  that  most 
godlike  quality.  I  am  one  of  those  impotent  beings  who  have 
chafed  bitterly  against  the  ills  of  life,  and  submitted  only  when 
submission  ceased  to  be  a  virtue,  since  it  became  a  necessity. 
But,  Lilian,  you  must  not  be  so  personal." 

"I  scarcely  understand  you.  What  is  it  to  be  personal, 
grandmother  ?" 

"  Perhaps  you  will  understand  the  idea  better  when  I  speak  in 
metaphor  :  you  a  poet — a  practising  poet — not  yet  quite  perfect  I" 

"  Oh,  grandmother,  I  will  never  tell  you  anything  again,  if  you 
taunt  me  afterward." 

"  I  was  only  '  personal,'  Lilian ;  that  is,  I  only  took  up  the 
bodkin  with  which  vulgarity  loves  to  stab  good  breeding,  and 
showed  you  how  to  use  it.  But  come  with  me,"  she  said,  amused 
at  my  clouded,  half-puzzled  countenance,  "  and  I  will  show  you  a 
lace  dress  that  will  better  become  your  fair  young  face  than  that 
ominous  Cinderolla  robe  of  mine  you  coveted — that  '  Auto  da  fie" ' 
garment." 


78  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE, 

And  she  opened  for  the  first  time  before  my  gaze  the  cedar 
ohest  lined  with  white  satin,  which  had  passed  into  her  keeping 
when  Dr.  Quintil  brought  me  to  Bouverie  ;  and  which  contained 
the  wedding  trousseau  of  her  child.  From  that  hour  the  key  was 
mine,  and  I  revelled  in  the  possession  of  its  varied  treasures. 

Not  only  had  my  mother's  wardrobe  been  preserved  for  me  by 
my  thoughtful  grandmother  De  Courcy,  but  almost  every  token 
she  could  gather  of  her  brief  and  innocent  life.  My  mother's 
and  my  father's  miniatures — the  first,  slight,  dark,  spiritual — the 
last,  fair,  frank,  joyous — their  sacred  correspondence,  full  of  aspi- 
rations never  to  be  realized,  and  hopes  to  be  crowned  but  for  a 
season  ;  locks  of  their  hair,  blended  in  vivid  contrast ;  faded 
flowers,  fervent  mementoes,  were  there,  too  early  consecrated  by 
the  hand  of  death  to  the  adamantine  altar  of  eternity  ;  pearls  for 
the  breast,  and  brow,  and  arm,  that  might  have  passed  unques- 
tioned by  Undine  herself  for  size  and  water,  and  which  had  been 
her  father's  wedding  gift  to  my  mother  ;  and  a  girdle  of  aqua 
marine  and  a  cross  of  diamonds,  more  than  usually  magnificent, 
which  had  been  those  of  mine, 

There,  too,  were  the  rosary,  and  the  ritual,  and  the  mass-book, 
that  indicated  my  mother's  faith,  strangely  preserved  in  that  Puri- 
tanic land,  and  revered  for  her  sake,  though  no  heritage  of  mine, 
as  to  the  belief  they  inculcated  ;  and  a  hundred  rare  and  delicate 
legacies  of  taste  and  affection,  in  the  shape  of  unfinished  broidery, 
and  half-tinted  drawings,  and  exquisite  designs  for  needlework, 
mutely  suggesting  to  her  child  the  value  she  had  placed  on  every 
moment  of  her  short  and  happy  life. 

Short  and  happy — are  not  those  words  indissoluble  ?  Is  hap- 
piness— worthy  to  be  called  such — ever  lengthened  beyond  a 
brief  and  uncertain  term  ?  Let  no  man  count  himself  wholly  un- 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEBIE.  79 

fortunate  who  can  look  back  either  from  his  sleepless  bed  of 
luxury,  or  prison-couch  of  penury,  and  say,  "  I  once  was  happy .'" 
Brother,  there  are  some  of  thy  fellow  beings  who  have  no 
privilege  to  utter  words  like  these — above  whom,  through  life,  an 
eternal  cloud  has  brooded  unpierced  by  any  sunshine,  and  to 
whom  the  whole  memory  of  the  past  is  pain.  Let  not  such  even 
despair !  The  grave  is  near,  the  gateway  to  a  new  existence, 
where  mercy  and  justice  reign  eternally,  and  sunshine  is  equally 
dispensed  for  all  who  merit  its  reviving  rays.  Faith,  hope,  and 
patience  !  The  mystic  three,  before  whose  magic  touch  sorrow 
and  sin  fade  into  oblivion,  and  earthly  troubles  drop  to  dust, 
stand  ready  to  comfort  him,  denied  by  experience  and  memory  1 


BOOK  SECOND. 


usy  priest." 

J'ABKT  CORNWALL. 


"  Dost  thou  deem 

It  such  an  easy  task,  from  the  fond  heart 
To  pluck  affection  out?" 

SOUTHBY. 

'Can  this  be  true?  uie  thought  I  was  acquainted 
With  all  the  dusky  corners  of  this  house  !" 

COLEBIOO& 

"  He  has,  I  know  not  what 
Of  greatness  in  his  looks,  and  of  high  fate 
that  almost  aves  me." 

DBTDBH. 


BOOK     SECOND. 

CHAPTER  I. 

WHEN  Bishop  Clare  caine  back  to  Bouverie,  after  long  absence, 
the  summer  in  all  her  languid  beauty  reigned  over  the  land, 
and  exerted  a  depressing  influence  over  the  health  and  spirits  of 
those  who  required  all  the  energy  they  could  command  at  any 
season,  to  support  the  stagnant  routine  of  their  lives. 

My  grandmother,  more  than  any  other  member  of  the  house- 
hold, seemed  to  droop  and  fail,  under  the  dry  glare  of  August. 
She  had  lost  appetite,  even  for  fruits,  usually  her  favorite  food — 
and  her  habitual  color  died  from  her  cheek,  leaving  it  clear  yet 
sallow.  Jasper,  too,  was  pale  and  listless,  and  would  lie  dream- 
ing under  the  trees  for  hours,  with  a  neglected  book,  instead  of 
exerting  himself  with  his  pencil  or  pen,  as  he  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  doing,  or  galloping  through  the  woods  and  meadows, 
or  to  Croften  for  letters  and  papers,  on  his  beautiful  grey  mare — 
Violet  Fane. 

Dr.  Quintil  and  I  bore  up  better  under  the  steady  breathless 
heat — yet  his  anxiety  about  those  he  loved  would  not  suffer  him 
to  rest,  and  day  after  day  he  was  devising  new  remedies  for 
debility  and  languor,  new  provocatives  for  the  failing  appetite, 
of  those  he  watched  with  such  unwearying  solicitude.  As  for  me, 
I  confess,  that  for  the  first  tune  in  my  life,  I  suffered  from  ennui 
— a  strange  enemy  to  beset  a  girl  of  my  age,  full  of  life,  and 
health,  and  vigor,  and  with  occupation  enough  to  beguile  time, 


84  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE 

very  effectually — if  this,  indeed,  were  all  that  is  needed  for  such  a 
purpose. 

Two  years  had  passed  since  we  last  saw  Bishop  Clart — two 
years  which  he  had  spent  abroad,  partly  for  the  benefit  of  his 
church,  and  partly  in  the  hope  of  restoring  his  own  declining 
health.  He  returned  invigorated  and  satisfied  with  the  success  of 
his  mission,  and  with  all  his  olden  interest  and  affection  for  the 
inmates  of  Bouverie  unchanged  ;  pained,  indeed,  to  see  the  evi- 
dences of  ill-health  in  my  grandmother's  appearance,  and  never 
weary  of  exclaiming  at  my  rapid  growth  and  wonderful  physical 
and  mental  improvement. 

Those  years  had  indeed  done  more  for  my  development  than  any 
other  five  of  my  life  have  effected.  They  had  brought  to  me  my 
full  stature,  and  opened  unsuspected  sources  of  intellect  and  feel- 
ing ;  yet  with  them  had  come  new  suspicions,  painful  glimmer- 
ings of  truths,  cautiously  and  I  could  but  think  injudiciously,  con- 
cealed from  me.  Among  other  matters  a  light  had  dawned 
across  my  brain — wakened  how  and  when  I  could  scarcely  tell — 
that  had  changed  Jasper's  attitude  toward  me,  and  thrown  con- 
straint between  us.  He  himself  had  aided  but  little  to  do  this — 
no  one  had  openly  done  it.  I  could  recall  but  one  overt  advance 
to  such  a  revelation  on  Jasper's  part — it  was  when  we  were 
reading  the  "  Bride  of  Abydos  "  together — alone  in  the  library. 
He  drew  near  to  me  on  the  sofa  on  which  we  were  sitting,  and 
encircling  me  with  one  arm  in  his  half  playful  yet  fraternal  way, 
stopped  me  in  my  reading  to  draw  his  pencil  beneath  the  line— 
"  Zuleika,  I  am  not  your  brother."  Then  rose  and  went  hurriedly 
out ;  nor  did  he  recur  again  to  this  imperfect  explanation  of  a 
subject  that  embarrassed  both. 

Bianca's  insinuations  had  long  pointed  to  this  ;  my  own  instincts 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  85 

had  risen  against  the  disproportioned  tie  between  us  ;  but  that  a 
near  one  existed,  I  could  not  doubt,  though  not  precisely  that,  I 
felt,  which  I  had  been  heretofore  suffered  to  suppose — our  bond  of 
kindred. 

Yet  I  neither  demanded,  nor  received  the  slightest  satisfac- 
tion about  the  condition  of  things  that  had  weighed  so  heavily 
upon  me,  from  any  one  around  me,  and  I  leave  to  the  reader 
the  solution  of  the  question  why  it  would  have  been  such  joy  to 
me  to  feel  that  a  distant  link  of  relationship  alone  united  me  to 
Jasper. 

There  is  a  wonderful  sagacity  in  affection  to  discover  the 
exact  limit  of  its  natural  boundaries.  Nature  speaks  to  blood  as 
to  the  waves  of  the  ocean,  and  says  hi  commands  that  are  never 
mistaken,  nor  transcended,  "  So  far,  and  no  further  shalt  thou  go." 

An  external  voice  only  had  said  these  things  to  me — no  law  of 
my  soul  spoke  out  against  the  affection  I  gave  to  Jasper — no  cry 
of  wrong-doing  rose  up  to  stifle  my  devotion. 

It  was  in  a  state  of  things  like  this  that  Bishop  Clare  arrived 
at  Bouverie,  and  never  were  his  cheerfulness,  and  practical  wis- 
dom, and  determined  energy  more  needed  than  now  among  us. 

He  came  from  the  outside  world,  bearing  a  valued  freight — as 
a  ship  to  a  distant  island.  His  simple  yet  shrewd  and  practical 
nature  befitted  him  well  to  mingle  with,  and  understand  men 
and  motives,  and  to  deal  with  them.  He  had  a  power  of  delinea- 
tion and  even  analysis  that  belongs  to  few,  and  which,  wherever 
it  may  be  found — commands  interest  and  attention.  His  con- 
versational powers  were  far  beyond  those  of  many  men,  his 
superiors  in  knowledge  and  profundity  of  thought,  adapted  as 
they  were  to  the  occasion  by  an  infinite  sweetness  of  manners 
.and  native  good  breeding. 


86  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJYEBIE. 

He  saw  at  a  glance  how  heavy  a  cloud  was  brooding  over 
our  patient  household,  and  he  strove  to  dispel  it  by  cheering 
accounts  of  matters  beyond  our  province — by  vivid  descriptions 
of  scenes  he  had  recently  moved  among — by  animated,  yet  always 
friendly  controversy  with  Dr.  Quintil,  whose  chief  delight  lay  in 
argument — and  by  lively  pictures  of  friends  once  familiar  to  my 
grandmother,  and  still  remembered  by  her  with  placid  affection, 
although  shut  away  forever  now  from  her  narrow  sphere. 

The  effort  made  in  turn  to  entertain  him  suitably,  and  as  be- 
came her  own  dignity,  reacted  favorably  on  my  grandmother's 
condition.  Additional  delicacies  were  provided  at  meals — for  one 
who  cared  little  for  more  than  a  bone  and  crust,  and  a  draught 
of  water — and  yet  who  recognized  with  pleasure  the  spirit  of  the 
exertions  made  to  honor  him. 

We  sat  in  the  drawing-room,  with  its  pleasant  shadowed 
windows  and  handsome  surroundings ;  we  looked  over  folios 
of  pictures,  and  talked, of  books,  long  neglected  or  laid  aside, 
or  examined  some  curious  presents  he  had  brought.  The  old 
enthusiasm  for  chess  was  revived,  which  Bishop  Clare  declared 
to  be  "  the  only  perfect  human  institution — both  as  to  arrange- 
ment and  conduct,"  and  thus  revealed,  my  grandmother  de- 
clared, the  Templar  Spirit  that  abode  in  his  heart  in  spite  of 
modern  innovations.  For  she  contended  that  a  taste  for  military 
tactics  and  chess  always  existed  together — and  that  it  was  a 
mistaken  notion  to  look  upon  it  as  a  scholar's  or  clergyman's 
game  !  It  was  nothing  but  war  in  disguise  ! 

"  I  wish  you  could  live  here  always,  Bishop  Clare,"  I  said  to 
hun  one  day,  after  listening  with  rapt  attention  to  one  of  those 
lively  narratives  he  told  so  well,  at  the  subsidence  of  which  my 
grandmother  had  left  the  room. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  87 

"The  house  is  so  different  when  you  are  here!  We  were  all 
very  silent  and  dull  before  you  came;  but  now,  all  except  Jasper 
seem  to  have  revived!" 

"And  he,  poor  fellow,  is  in  love!"  I  started,  then  laughed  and 
colored  at  the  quaint  and  sudden  accusation;  for  I  felt  that  his 
calm,  blue  eye  perused  my  face.  "  How  did  you  find  it  out, 
Father  Clare  ?  Did  he  confess  it  to  yon,  and  have  you  betrayed 
him?" 

"  My  dear  Lilian,  I  am  an  old  man,  but  I  see  very  quickly 
into  an  affair  of  this  sort.  I  was  in  love  too  at  his  age,  and  like 
him,  fell  into  the  dumps,  until  those  wiser  than  myself  determined 
to  send  me  away,  and  so  and  so — I  got  over  it." 

"  But  who  is  there  for  him  to  fall  in  love  with  ?  Does  he  visit 
any  one  ?  Has  he  acquaintances  in  Croften  ?  "  I  asked  with  ill- 
suppressed  emotion. 

"  Who  knows,  my  dear,  what  a  young  man's  fancy  may  lead 
him  to  ?  Perhaps  it  would  be  best  for  you  not  to  inquire  further. 
Jasper  is  twenty  years  old  now,  and  it  is  time  he  should  see  the 
world.  We  are  about  to  send  him  to  Leyden  to  the  university." 

" To  Leyden?"  I  trembled,  I  grew  pale;  but  soon  command- 
ing myself,  I  said,  "  Why  of  all  places  in  the  world  to  Leyden — 
that  horrid  Dutch  town  ?  Why  not  to  Yale,  to  Cambridge, 
father — to  an  English  college  even  ?" 

"  Leyden  was  his  mother's  birthplace,  and  a  small  heritage  falls 
to  him  there  when  he  completes  his  majority.  To  claim  this  he 
must  go  in  person.  We  deem  it  best  to  send  him  a  year  sooner, 
that  he  may  take  advantage  of  the  schools,  and  consult  with 
a  famous  professor  there,  about  his  lameness,  and  see  Prince 
If  ohenloe*  in  person,  as  a  patient  sent  by  me,  and  finally,  have 

*  Th*  miraculous  cures  of  Prince  Hohenloe  are  matter  of  history. 


88  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

an  opportunity  of  recovering  from  this  impossible  love  dream 
of  his  1" 

"  Impossible  1  Why  impossible,  Bishop  Clare  ?  Answer  me 
as  you  have  mercy  for  us  both.  Say,  would  Jasper's  love  be  sinful 
in  the  eyes  of  God  ?" 

I  laid  my  clasped  hands  on  his  arm,  and  looked  imploringly  into 
his  face. 

"  It  seems  so,  Lilian,  when  all  the  circumstances  are  Con- 
sidered." 

"What  circumstances ?  I  desire — I  demand  to  know!  Loose 
insinuations  have  been  thrown  out — significant  hints  dropped — 
that  distress,  that  torture  me.  You  know  in  this  house  of  mys- 
tery one  can  ask  no  questions.  The  people  that  come  to  us  in 
dreams  are  not  more  unsatisfactory  in  their  proceedings  than 
those  of  Bouverie.  You  are  of  the  world,  though  a  minister, 
and  have  a  human  heart,  and  not  a  substitute  of  stone — a  mere 
filterer  for  the  life  blood  to  flow  through.  Tell  me  the  truth-  - 
What  is  my  true  relationship  to  Jasper  Bouverie  ?" 

"Ask  me  no  more,  Lilian;  I  cannot  answer  you  now.  Yet 
render  to  those  about  you,  I  beseech  you,  the  justice  at  least  to 
believe  they  do  nothing  in  vain,  nor  without  considering  your  best 
interest.  For  all  our  sakes — for  his,  and  more  especially  for  your 
own — suffer  no  confidence  on  this  subject  to  escape  from  Jasper. 
He  will  repent  it  hereafter,  if  he  betrays  himself  now,  and  shrink 
from  you  evermore  as  the  cause  of  such  self-betrayal;  and  Lilian 
hear  me.  Do  not  seek  to  be  alone  with  Jasper  again.  There  is 
a  ban  of  blood  between  you  two !" 

He  paused — he  turned  away;  and  as  if  in  horror  of  his  own 
ivords,  covered  his  eyes  with  one  hand  and  waved  the  other. 

"  I  know — I  know  !"  I  said.  "  He  is  my  uncle,  or  you  call  him 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUYEKIE.  89 

such ;  that  is  indeed  a  ban  of  blood  1  Oh  I  never  thought  of  this 
before.  I  wish — I  wish  you  had  not  spoken,  Bishop  Clare." 

"  Had  I  not  done  so,  he  would — he  must  have  spoken,  and  then 
infinite  misery  might  have  pursued  you  both.  The  discovery  of 
this  misplaced  passion  has  seriously  affected  your  grandmother's 
health;  she  sees  hi  you  unusual  growth  of  both  mind  and  stature, 
indications  of  an  early  womanhood,  that  redoubles  her  solicitude 
in  your  behalf.  Scarcely  fifteen,  you  wear  the  presence  and 
appearance  of  at  least  two  additional  years;  and  Jasper  forgets 
that  you  are  really  but  a  child,  and — and — his  relation.  On  your 
good  sense,  and  honorable  forbearance,  I  place  my  hopes.  Pro- 
mise me  that  before  he  leaves  this  house  you  will  receive  no  love 
passages  from  Jasper." 

"I  promise  you,  Bishop  Clare,  but  I  think  you  wrong  him; 
he  could  not  forget  our  close — dose  kindred,  so  far  as  to 
breathe  such  words  to  me.  "Why,  he  is  to  me  as  a  dear,  only 
brother I" 

"  And  such  he  shall  remain  if  you  retain  your  prudence  and 
keep  your  word.  But  think  of  the  sorrowful  estrangement  that 
rash  avowals  on  his  part  must  occasion;  one  of  you  would  be 
obliged  to  leave  Bouverie  I" 

"  But  now  that  I  am  warned,  you  will  not  send  Jasper  away  ?" 
I  asked  eagerly. 

"Yes  for  the  present,  Lilian,  he  must  go;  and  when  I  leave 
Bouverie  I  take  him  with  me,  and  see  him  safely  placed  on  ship- 
board before  we  part.  But  there  will  still  be  a  week  of  interval 
before  this  time,  and  all  depends  on  you." 

"I  think  you  have  shown  great  confidence  in  me,  father,  and 
although  you  have  given  me  exquisite  pain,  I  appreciate  and  will 


90  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

not  betray  it  I  promise  to  obey  your  directions,"  I  said,  with 
downcast  head.  .«^-r° 

"Not  a  word,  then,  Lilian,  to  any  one — not  even  to  your 
grandmother — on  this  subject.  You  will  see  later  the  wisdom 
and  the  justice  of  my  proceeding." 

"  But,  when  Jasper  comes  back,  Bishop  Clare,  what  then  ?"  I 
faltered. 

"  He  will  come  back  cured ! — you  need  anticipate  no  trouble 
on  that  score.  Have  I  not  told  you  that  at  his  age  my  friends 
sent  me  to  travel,  to  avoid  just  such  a  snare,  and  that  it  succeeded 
perfectly  ?" 

"  Oh,  Bishop  Clare,  Jasper  is  not  like  you  ;  he  will  never  forget 
me."  I  gasped,  I  trembled. 

"  Lilian,  have  I  misread  you  ?"  he  said,  grasping  my  arm,  and 
shaking  it  slightly.  "  Are  you  so  weak,  so  wrong-minded,  as 
to  encourage  guilty  hopes  like  these  ?  Speak — if  so,  you,  too, 
must  go  beyond  the  reach  of  danger.  Back  to  Scotland  ! — back, 
as  were  best,  in  any  case,"  he  murmured,  "to  Taunton  Tower  !" 
And  he  frowned  on  me  sternly,  speaking  vehemently. 

"I  will  not  go  !"  I  said,  looking  up.  "I  will  stay  here,  and 
obey  you  to  the  letter.  Is  not  this  enough  ?"  I  added,  indig- 
nantly ;  "have  you  any  right  to  probe  my  inmost  soul  ?  I  am  no 
slave  of  yours — no  Catholic  ;  you  have  wrung  and  wounded  me 
sufficiently — let  me  pass  !" 

And  bursting  away  from  his  detaining  hand,  I  sought  my 
chamber^-to  lie  alone,  with  my  burning  face  buried  in  the  pillow, 
and  indulge  in  passionate  tears.  "Jasper,  Jasper,"  I  murmured, 
"  the  priest  may  be  all  wrong,  as  I  know  such  love  as  yours  would 
be  ;  but  I  feel  tha :  in  heaven  it  can  be  no  sin  for  you  to  claim  me 


TEE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEKIE.  91 

as  your  kindred  spirit,  and  I  will  walk  through  life  alone  for  your 
sake,  my  Jasper.  I  am  a  child  no  longer — your  love,  real  or 
fancied,  has  made  a  woman  of  me  at  once,  strong  to  feel  and 
tc  suffer  ;  and  I  do  love  you,  oh,  my  Jasper  !  more  entirely,  more 
intensely,  than — than  Hero  loved  Leander.  (I  could  think  of  no 
stronger  comparison.)  But  T  will  keep  my  word,  and  this 
shall  save  us  loth  from  the  sorrow  of  such  sin  as  spoken  love 
would  be." 

I  sobbed  myself  to  sleep  ;  and,  when  our  late  supper-hour  ar- 
rived, Bianca  had  difficulty  in  arousing  me.  I  rose  hastily  at  hei 
summons,  as  soon  as  it  became  distinct  to  my  ear  ;  and,  smooth- 
ing my  disordered  hair  and  garments,  went  into  the  dining-room, 
where  Bishop  Clare — the  inveterate  toper  ! — sat  slowly  sipping 
his  fifth  cup  of  weak  black  tea.  Jasper  had  supped,  and  risen 
from  the  table,  and  now  reclined  on  the  sofa  at  some  distance 
from  it ;  and  Dr.  Quintil  was  reading  aloud  the  description  of 
a  fearful  Imrricane  in  the  South — Mississippi,  I  believe — in  the 
moon,  it  might  as  well  have  been,  so  little  could  I  realize  the 
nature  of  it  in  the  mood  of  mind  in  which  I  was.  To  this  narra- 
tive, both  my  grandmother  and  Bishop  Clare  lent  rapt  attention, 
interrupted  only  by  expressions  of  interest  or  commiseration. 
But  I  was  insensible  as  steel  to  the  whole  recital. 

Once  I  ventured  to  look  up,  and  saw  that  Jasper  was  watching 
me  ;  and,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  his  gaze  flooded  my  whole 
face  with  crimson.  He  rose,  and  left  the  room,  conscious,  per- 
haps, that  his  vigilance  disconcerted  me  ;  nor  did  he  join  us  in  the 
drawing-room  that  evening. 

I  moved  about  in  a  sort  of  wretched  dream  ;  but  found  myself, 
after  a  tune,  sitting  close  to  Bishop  Clare,  while  my  hand  nestled 
in  hip.  I  could  not  bear  rmy  longer  hi?  cold,  averted  look.  He 


93  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUYEKIE. 

must  be  my  chief  comfort  now — my  counsellor,  my  confidant,  it 
needs  must  be  !  He  who  made  the  wound  must  cauterize  it.  I 
knew  by  his  friendly  grasp,  that  my  injudicious  haste  was  for- 
given ;  but  no  words  were  spoken  between  us  on  the  subject,  then 
or  thereafter. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIK. 


CHAPTER  II. 

I  AVOIDED  Jasper,  as  I  had  promised  to  do.  Half-sick,  as  I 
was,  I  took  advantage  of  my  slight  feverishness  to  pass  whole 
days  on  my  bed  alone  in  my  little,  cool,  dark  room,  with  its  one 
jalousied  window  and  white  draperies,  through  which  every  breeze 
bore  the  spicy  scent  of  the  clinging  pink  honeysuckle  without — that 
refuge  where  sunshine  and  watchful  eyes  never  penetrated,  to 
flout  and  annoy  me. 

And,  lying  there,  I  heard  those  light,  quick,  ghostly  footsteps 
above  my  head,  of  which  Bianca  had  warned  me,  and  which  I  had 
before  caught  uncertainly  and  at  rare  intervals,  but  with  little  or 
no  faith,  from  the  first,  in  their  supernatural  character.  I  heard 
them  distinctly  now  in  the  nervous  crisis  under  which  I  was  labor- 
ing, which  sharpened  every  sense  even  to  intensity  ;  and,  again,  a 
heavier,  slower  tread,  and — could  it  be  my  fancy  ? — hi  that  sultry, 
summer  stillness,  the  low  roaring  of  a  furnace,  or  smothered  fire, 
seemed  at  intervals  to  fill  my  ear,  as  the  moaning  of  a  shell  may 
do  when  held  close  to  the  head. 

I  shuddered,  and  held  my  breath,  as  this  novel  sound  first  took 
possession  of  me  ;  and,  at  that  moment,  Dr.  Quintil  came  in  with 
some  composing  draught  he  had  prepared  for  me. 

"  You  are  more  nervous  than  before,  Lilian,"  he  said,  feeling 
my  wrist ;  "  your  pulse  is  feeble  and  fast." 

"  Those  noises  upstairs,"  I  whispered,  clinging  to  his  arm  with 
uncontrollable  terror,  "  quite  unnerve  me — I  am  frightened  ?  What 
can  they  mean  ?" 


94  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEK1K. 

He  listened  for  a  moment,  as  if  to  assure  himself  of  the  correct- 
ness of  my  impression,  and  then  said — although  I  had  heard  no 
sound  in  the  interval — with  a  shake  of  the  head,  and  a  faint 
smile  : 

"You  do  not  let  a  few  rats  having  complete  possession  of 
abandoned  premises,  or  the  hollow  voice  of  the  wind  in  disused 
chimneys,  make  a  coward  of  you,  I  hope  ?  You  must  bear  a 
stouter  heart,  Lilian — this  will  never  do  1" 

And  such  was  the  power  of  this  man  over  me,  in  his  simple, 
upright  manliness,  and  native  truth  of  character,  that  these  few 
words  did  more  to  dispel  my  fears  than  whole  tirades  of  argument, 
founded  on  sounder  reasoning,  would  have  done,  from  a  less 
reliable  source. 

Yet  he  had  asserted  nothing,  disproved  nothing  ;  and,  later,  I 
remembered  this — and  was  glad  to  be  able  to  do  so — as  an  evi- 
dence of  his  unvarying  consistency  and  integrity. 

One  evening — the  last  of  Bishop  Clare's  stay — I  rose  after 
twilight  had  set  in,  and  made  my  way  through  my  grandmother's 
room  to  the  great  open  window  ;  and  there,  among  the  long, 
white,  transparent  curtains,  swaying  to  and  fro  in  the  faint  breeze 
of  summer,  I  sat  down,  to  inhale  the  pleasant  breath  just  wakened 
by  the  night, 

I  would  have  gone  elsewhere,  but  I  felt  that  Jasper  was  seek- 
ing me  ;  and  that  here  only  I  could  be  secure  from  his  dear  yet 
avoided  presence. 

I  had  promised  Bishop  Clare  not  to  meet  him  alone,  and  I 
would  keep  that  promise,  even  though  it  cost  me  much,  and  op- 
pressed me  with  a  suffocating  sense  of  desolation.  Yet  I  could 
not  bear  the  constraint,  and  the  light  of  the  drawing-room  ;  nor 
did  I  wish  for  food.  Air,  freedom,  solitude,  Jarkness,  were  what 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  96 

I  wanted,  aiid  what  I  sought,  as  I  crouched  in  the  embrasure  of 
the  wide  window  that  opened  to  the  floor. 

The  night  was  one  of  peaceful  beauty.  A  few  stars  were 
visible,  and  the  narrow-crescent  moon  hung  high  in  the  heavens  ; 
yet  the  crimson  remnant  of  sunset  skirted  the  horizon,  like  the 
smile  that  lingers  on  dead  lips  we  love — so  sweet,  so  holy,  that 
life  never  wore  any  expression  half  so  lovely. 

There  are  certain  temperaments,  not  the  loftiest,  perhaps,  that 
find  great  consolation,  in  the  various  influences  of  nature — even 
in  seasons  of  adversity.  Mine  is  of  this  class  ;  and  that  evening 
I  folded  the  quiet  twilight  to  my  heart,  as  a  friend  that  would 
not  betray  me,  nor  desert  me  in  my  need,  and  stretching  forth 
my  hands  to  the  calm  unheeding  sky,  I  murmured  of  my  sorrow. 
I  was  startled  from  my  reverie,  if  such  that  passionate  mood 
might  have  been  justly  called,  by  the  sudden  opening  and  shutting 
of  a  door  behind  me.  I  turned  to  see  the  dimly  defined  forms 
of  my  grandmother  and  Bishop  Clare  emerge  Trom  the  secret 
chamber. 

They  came  together  to  the  centre  of  the  room,  and  com- 
muned there  for  a  few  moments  in  low  tones.  I  heard  only  the 
words  :  "  Again,  that  fatal  passion  !  I  hoped  it  was  laid 
at  rest — with  other  madness.  Camilla,  you  must  discourage 
this  !" 

"  Father,  I  cannot  !  Think  of  the  isolation  of  such  a  life,  and 
be  merciful  in  your  judgment.  What  else  remains — what  other 
resources  are  left  for  one  so  lost,  so  lonely  ?" 

I  rose  and  fled  away.  It  was  not  right — not  honorable  for  me 
to  hear  another  word.  Once  before  I  had  overheard  a  con- 
versation between  these  two,  not  intended  for  any  ear,  and 


96  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

from  the  same  hiding-place.  This  should  no*  be  again — and 
yet  I  could  not  bear  to  appear  before  them  as  one  who  had 
listened,  even  unintentionally,  to  any  portion  of  their  sacred 
confidence. 

Obeying  this  instinct,  almost  of  self-preservation — for  is  not 
self-respect  the  dearest  part  of  self — I  went  out  upon  the  lawn — 
and  sought  the  deep-shadowed  retreat  I  loved — inclosed  by  a 
clump  of  laurel  trees — and  threw  myself  at  length  on  its  rustic 
bench.  I  lay  on  my  face — this  buried  in  my  hands — and  moaned 
aloud. 

Everything  about  me  seemed  mysterious  and  repulsive.  I  was 
bewildered — tempted — yet  repelled  !  Wild  thoughts  were  busy 
in  my  brain — conjectures  thickened  ;  half-formed  suspicions 
gathered  strength,  and  substance  came  from  shadows. 

But  above  all,  the  sorrow  of  my  bereavement  weighed  on  me 
most  heavily,  and  with  passionate  tears  I  called  upon  his  name 
— there  in  the  calm  and  unpitying  night — who  was  more  than  life 
to  me. 

"  Jasper — my  Jasper — do  not — do  not  leave  me.  I  cannot 
live  without  you — dear — most  dear  1" 

I  felt  his  soft  touch  on  my  hair.  I  would  have  known  it  in  a 
thousand.  I  looked  up — I  sprang  to  my  feet — I  strove  to  evade 
him. 

He  clasped  my  hands  in  his — he  drew  me  gently  to  his  bosom- 
and  folded  me  there  in  one  long,  mute  embrace.  It  was  but  & 
moment  and  he  was  gone  ;  but  the  letter  he  had  written  remained 
in  my  hand,  to  be  read  and  read  again — night  after  night,  with 
ever  new  and  ever  tearful  joy. 

We  parted  next  morning  in  the  presence  of  the  household — hi 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKIB.  9? 


a  tender  yet  grave  and  decorous  manner  worthy  of  our 
ship.  Bishop  Clare  was  the  last  to  say  "Farewell"  to  me,  and 
as  he  kissed  my  cheek,  he  whispered  in  my  ear  :  "  You  could 
not  help  the  meeting  in  the  '  Laurel-bower.'  I  am  witness  that 
you  behaved  well  on  the  occasion,  and  kept  your  word  to  the 
•£tt*>r."  So  speaking,  he  was  gone. 


TOE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBI2. 


CHAPTER  III. 

JASPER'S  letter  to  me,  was  not  one  of  those  extravagant  effu- 
sions that  ordinarily  come  under  the  acceptation  of  love-letters, 
and  yet  it  gave  me  a  sweet  assurance  that  brought  back  health  to 
my  frame,  and  happiness  to  my  heart.  I  felt  convinced  from  its 
tenor  that  his  relationship  to  me  could  not  be  so  near  as  I  had 
imagined  even.  Sometimes  I  doubted  altogether  that  any  tie  of 
blood  bound  me  to  her  I  called  my  grandmother,  and  I  half 
conceived  the  idea  that  she  had  been  merely  the  step-mother  of 
my  grandfather's  daughter.  Yet  how  could  I  reconcile  this 
state  of  things  to  her  own  remark  :  "I  have  never  seen  your 
mother  since  she  was  one  day  old,"  made  on  the  first  evening  of 
my  advent  to  Bouverie  ? 

Alas,  alas  !  Did  there  rest  on  that  mother  the  dark  stain  of, 
illegitimacy,  which  by  educating  her  in  a  foreign  land  her  father 
had  sought  to  conceal,  and  was  the  birth  of  this  child  a  cause 
of  this  terrible  sorrow  that  seemed  to  have  risen  up  between 
husband  and  wife,  and  shadowed  their  hearth  forevermore  ?  Or 
was  my  grandmother  ? — But,  no  !  I  could  not  question  of  her, 
so  great,  so  true,  so  noble  as  she  undeniably  was  1  Nor 
could  there  be  a  reasonable  doubt  of  her  close  relationship  to 
Jasper,  as  evidenced  by  her  devotion  to  him,  and  tenderness 
such  as  she  never  bestowed  upon  me. 

If  alien  there  was,  I  was  that  alien  ;  and  crushing  as  was  the 
first  thought  that  had  presented  itself  to  my  mind.  I  fear  now 
that  I  fostered  it,  rather  than  believe  that  Jasper  was  indeed 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  99 

my  uncle.  No  !  this  could  not  be  ;  and  that  my  opinion  was 
not  altogether  without  foundation,  let  his  letter  prove. 

"  Lilian,"  it  said,  "  they  are  sending  me  away  because  I 
insist  on  making  revelations  to  you  on  which  our  life-long  happi- 
ness depends.  Not  content  with  exacting  a  promise  from  me, 
to  defer  these  until  after  my  return  from  Leyden,  they  have,  I 
perceive  it  clearly,  Lilian,  poisoned  the  very  sources  of  your 
affection  for  me  by  giving  you  the  impression,  that  my  reckless 
hand  would  lay  low  your  peace,  as  dear  to  me  as  my  own  life, 
by  sacrificing  the  sacred  ties  of  blood.  Do  not  believe  this, 
Lilian.  Rest  as  you  have  ever  done,  in  the  sweet  confidence 
that  I  would  do  no  violence  to  any  feeling  of  your  heart — nor  to 
any  covenant  of  society  ! 

"  Yet  I  cannot,  my  tender  child,  without  forfeiting  a  solemn 
trust,  make  matters  plainer  to  you  now  ;  nor  can  I  bear,  with- 
out a  perfect  explanation  of  the  nature  I  desire  to  make,  to  re- 
main near  you  longer.  I  am  convinced  in  my  own  mind  that  it 
would  be  better  for  all  parties  concerned  to  suffer  this  under- 
standing to  take  place  at  once  ;  but,  as  I  am  refused  this  privi- 
lege, rather  than  rest  in  a  false  position  another  hour,  I  have 
consented  to  go  away  for  a  season,  and  it  may  be  for  the  best. 

"But  hi  this  at  least  I  feel  that  I  have  been  wronged;  when  the 
reluctant  promise  to  which  I  have  referred  was  exacted  from  me, 
I  was,  I  think,  entitled  to  such  confidence  as  would  have  spared 
you  the  burden  they  have  laid  on  your  young  life.  I  should  have 
preserved  the  pledge  I  made  immaculate;  and  to  doubt  me  was 
to  dishonor. 

"I  think  we  owe  much  of  what  we  suffer  now,  to  the  amiable 
but  ill-advised  interference  of  Father  Clare,  whose  Jesuitical  ten- 
dency has  been  plainly  shown  by  the  whole  proceeding.  These 


100  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

confessors  have  strange  views  of  human  motives,  because  they 
believe  what  they  hear  in  their  confessional,  and  never  hear  the 
truth!  We  should  not  be  so  judged,  were  the  common  standard 
of  truth  and  honor  higher;  but  as  it  is,  my  Lilian,  we  must  bear. 

"  I  know  my  gentle  girl  will  believe  me  incapable  of  cherishing 
any  hope  or  aspiration  connected  with  her,  that  I  might  not  with 
propriety  spread  before  the  world;  and  that  the  tune  may  come 
when  this  may  be  done  without  reproach  or  reserve,  I  pray  to  the 
Parent  of  all  good. 

"  In  the  meantime  write  to  me,  dear  beloved  friend,  freely  and 
frequently,  and  send  me  your  poems,  just  as  they  fell  from  your 
pen,  that  I  may,  though  distant,  trace  the  progress  of  those 
powers  with  which  God  has  so  richly  gifted  you. 

"  For  my  own  part,  I  do  not  conceal  from  you  that  my  hope 
of  success  in  that  peculiar  walk  of  art  to  which  I  incline,  gilds 
this  exile  from  home,  and  alone  makes  the  thought  of  absence 
endurable. 

"  You  that  have  watched  with  such  interest  my  crude  efforts,  and 
suggested  to  me,  out  of  the  storehouse  of  your  ardent  fancy,  so 
many  beautiful  subjects  for  design,  will,  I  well  know,  go  hand  in 
hand  with  me  along  the  path  I  have  traced,  and  rejoice  in  what- 
ever distinction  I  may  achieve. 

"  For  believe  me,  beloved  Lilian,  no  day  shall  pass  in  which  I 
shall  not  be  near  to  you  in  thought  and  in  affection,  however 
arduous  my  tasks  may  be;  and  the  hope  of  pleasing  you,  and  the 
thought  of  your  beaming  eye  and  smile,  shall  cheer  and  strengthen 
your  devoted  Jasper." 

Was  this  a  letter  to  be  ashamed  of — to  be  taunted  about? 
No.  Bishop  Clare  should  read  it — I  resolved  on  it  at  once-~ 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          101 

whenever  he  came  again.  I  would  make  him  ashamed  of  the  part 
he  had  performed.  He,  an  anointed  priest  of  God,  to  play  the 
spy  and  the  eavesdropper!  How  my  cheek  burned  as  I  thought 
of  his  covert  sarcasm,  when  he  averred  that  I  had  obeyed  him 
"to  the,  letter!"  A  play  upon  words,  at  such  a  time  as  that,  was 
too  unfeeling.  Why  had  he  not  a  family  of  his  own  to  attend 
to,  like  other  men  ?  Why  must  he  meddle  forevennore  hi  our 
affairs  ? 

Long  before  he  came  again,  all  these  bad  feelings  had  melted 
into  thin  air.  Troubles  of  my  own  had  arisen,  to  humiliate, 
to  torture  me;  and  connected  with  these,  had  dawned  over  me 
some  glimmering  of  the  unseen  motives  that  had  prompted  him  to 
take  so  decided  a  part  in  affairs  that  seemed  little  or  no  concern 
of  his,  at  the  time  of  Jasper's  departure. 

It  was  early  in  December  before  he  found  himself  at  leisure  to 
return  to  Bouverie;  and  in  this  interval  some  remarkable  revela- 
tions had  been  made  to  me,  partly  by  accident,  partly  through  my 
own  enterprise  and  headstrong  determination  to  cut  the  Gordiau 
knot  of  mystery  at  once.  I  was  in  sackcloth  and  ashes  for  all 
this  when  he  came;  yet  I  told  him  nothing  of  what  had  occurred, 
although  I  surmised  that  from  another  source  he  had  obtained 
information  of  my  proceedings.  The  autumn  had  been  full  of 
incident  to  him  ;  the  epidemic  prophesied  by  Dr.  Quintil  had, 
during  that  season,  ravaged  a  portion  of  his  diocese,  and  had 
indeed  approached  near  to  our  own  doors;  and,  as  usual,  Bishop 
Clare  had  breasted  the  fierce  tide  of  suffering  with  all  the  skill 
and  energy  he  could  command. 

Priest,  doctor,  soldio.r — all  in  one — he  bore  back  to  us  the 
marks  of  the  strife  he  k  d  encountered,  and  was  fain  to  rest  for 
weeks,  at  Bouverie,  before  he  went  forth  again  to  the  renewed 


102  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

discharge  of  his  pastoral  duties.  The  old  man  was  sorely  shaken; 
he  was  more  bent  and  worn,  my  grandmother  thought,  than  she 
had  ever  seen  him,  and  her  solicitude  about  him  found  vent  when 
we  were  alone. 

"Oh,  Lilian,  what  if  he  should  pass  away  before  me!  How 
could  I  live  without  the  staff  of  my  whole  life — my  comforter, 
my  counsellor,  my  almost  more  than  father  ?  Cut  off  as  I  am 
from  my  fellow-beings,  an  exile  from  society,  he  seems  the  link, 
not  only  between  my  soul  and  heaven,  but  my  life  and  the  earth 
it  clings  to  now!" 

I  reproached  myself  sorely  then  for  my  hard  thoughts  toward 
this  good,  this  disinterested  man — so  self-forgetting,  so  truly  de- 
voted to  the  welfare  of  his  fellow-creatures,  as  to  neglect  his  own  ; 
and  my  hasty  resolution  to  show  him  Jasper's  letter  was  at  an 
end,  when  I  reflected  that  he  might  be  wounded  to  the  quick  by 
the  manner  in  which  he  was  mentioned  in  its  pages. 

I  had  thought,  at  one  time,  that  he  deserved  a  blow  like  this — 
and  from  the  very  hand  that  dealt  it.  I  looked  upon  matters 
differently  now.  I  saw  why  they  had  hesitated  to  trust  one  so 
young,  and  so  impetuous,  with  the  perilous  confidence  that  must 
have  been  reposed,  had  reasons  been  assigned  for  a  new  position 
between  Jasper  and  myself ;  and  I  bowed  before  the  still  uncom- 
prehended  fiat. 

But,  in  recording  these  convictions,  I  am  anticipating  the  events 
that  gave  rise  to  them,  and  deferring  an  acknowledgment  of  error 
that  it  costs  me  dear  to  make,  even  at  this  hour.  Let  me  go 
back  to  the  middle  of  October.  It  was  then  that  the  suspicions 
that  had  long  haunted  me,  though  vague  and  unformed,  received 
confirmation  in  the  startling  manner  I  am  about  to  relate. 

During  a  week  of  stormy  weather,  T  had  taken  refuge  during 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.  103 

my  leisure  hours  in  the  basement  conservatory,  with  my  ball,  and 
battledoor,  and  skipping-rope,  for  the  sake  of  the  unimpeded 
room  for  exercise  which  it  afforded.  The  plants  it  contained — 
recently  brought  in  for  shelter — were  ranged  in  long  rows  on  that 
side  of  the  apartment  on  which  the  windows  were  pierced  ;  and 
between  these  and  the  blank  partition  opposite,  lay  an  open  pass- 
way,  of  nearly  twenty  feet  hi  breadth,  and  at  least  thirty  in 
length — for  the  room  embraced  the  space  occupied  by  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  a  portion  of  the  lateral  hall  above  it. 

Tired  of  skipping  up  and  down  the  uneven  pavement,  I  had 
just  commenced  to  throw  my  ball  against  the  partition,  when  I 
heard  a  familiar  voice  exclaim  : 

"  Oh,  what  a  '  lively  bouncer  '  she  is  !  Miss  Lilian,  let  me  come 
play  ball  with  you,  please,  ma-am  I" 

I  turned,  with  a  mixture  of  disgust  and  indignation,  to  chide 
the  intruder  ;  but  his  poor,  pleading  face — pathetic  enough,  at  all 
tunes,  in  its  unmitigated  foolishness — disarmed  me,  and  I  merely 
said : 

"  Don't  you  know,  Pat,  that  stable  boys  never  play  ball  with 
young  ladies  ?  Go  away,  directly,  or  I  shall  have  to  call  the 
dame." 

He  stood  a  moment,  slightly  confounded  by  this  threat,  which 
he  knew  would,  if  put  into  execution,  bring  about  certain  unplea- 
sant consequences  ;  but,  soon  recovering  himself,  he  thrust  out  hia 
hand,  with  its  long,  dangling  fingers,  and  said,  hi  a  wheedling 
way,  inexpressibly  ridiculous  and  repulsive  at  once,  to  me  : 

"  Miss  Lilian,  dear,  give  me  your  ball — your  pretty  red  ball, 
that  looks  like  mammy's  Bible — I  want  it  to  keep  the  witches 
away,  they  pesters  me  so  of  nights  !"  looking  fearfully  around, 
with  an  expression  worthy  of  Tarn  O'Shanter  himself.  Then 


104:  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

di  awing  closer  to  me,  he  added,  in  a  loud  whisper,  holding  on€ 
hand  over  his  mouth,  and  stooping  forward,  as  if  there  might  be 
ear-witnesses  about,  while  the  other  was  still  extended  in  true 
beggar  fashion  : 

"  If  you'll  give  me  your  bouncer,  Miss  Lilian,  I'll  tell  you  what 
I'll  do — I'll  show  you  my  pretty  old  play-actor  man  upstairs,  and 
the  sun,  and  the  moon,  and  the  stars,  and  the  kettles,  and  all, 
where  he  cooks  his  victuals  ;  but  don't  tell  mammy,  or" — walling 
his  eyes  fearfully — "she'll  pin  my  tongue  to  the  biscuit-board 
again  with  her  big  darning-needle." 

"  Poor  wretch  !  did  she  ever  treat  you  thus  ?  Why  didn't  you 
go  at  once  and  complain  to  Mrs.  Bouverie  ?  What  made  you 
bear  such  barbarity  ?"  I  asked,  pausing  in  my  amusement. 

He  did  not  answer  my  indignant  interrogatories,  nor  even 
seem  to  heed  them  ;  but  continued  to  plead,  still  stretching  forth 
the  supplicating  hand,  by  this  time  so  drawn  up  as  to  resemble  the 
claw  of  a  bird  of  prey. 

"You  see,  Miss  Lilian,  the  witches  tells  me,  that  old  Master 
TJrsa  Boobery" — so  he  invariably  pronounced  this  aristocratic 
name — "  buried  money  pots  down  in  the  woods,  where  the  spotted 
snake  watches  ;  and,  if  you  will  give  me  your  Bible  ball,  I  will  roll 
it  in  the  hollow  till  it  stops  right  over  the  gold.  And  then  I  will 
'vide  with  you,  Miss  Lilian — indeed  I  will ! — half  and  half,  for  a 
bargain  is  a  bargain,  and  a  promise  must  never  be  broke — so 
Bishop  Clare  says." 

"  Be  quiet,  Pat,  and  go  your  ways.  I  am  tired  of  your  folly. 
There,  poor  fellow !  take  the  ball ;  you  have  little  enough  to  please 
you,  heaven  knows  !  And  listen,  Pat ! — if  you  ever  follow  me 
here  again,  I  will  tell  Dr.  Qnintil  and  your  mammy  both,  I 
promise  you '" 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          105 

He  turned  away  well  pleased  with  the  granted  plaything,  and, 
taking  up  my  rope  I  was  preparing  to  jump  again,  when  I  felt 
my  arms  violently  seized  from  behind  ;  and,  before  I  could  resist 

or  cry  out,  I  was  thrust  into  an  opening,  never  suspected  before, 

If 
against  a  narrow  ladder  that  r^n  up,  dingy,  and  straight,  and 

steep  before  me.  He  had  unclosed  a  small  door,  hitherto  unsus- 
pected, in  the  plank  partition,  while  my  back  was  turned,  and  was 
compelling  me  to  enter  it.  I  disengaged  myself  without  difficulty 
from  his  grasp — his  object  seemed  only  to  exhibit  the  mysterious 
stairway — and  he  stood  holding  the  door  back,  as  if  quite  uncon- 
scious of  having  offended  me,  until  I  sprang  round  with  my  hand 
uplifted  to  strike  him. 

He  sank  on  his  knees  with  a  moaning  whimper,  such  as  a  beaten 
hound  makes  sometimes,  as  if  sorrow  got  the  better  of  mere  phy- 
sical pain,  and  covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"  Oh  !  don't  strike  me,  Miss  Lilian,"  he  said.  "  Tell  my 
mammy,  but  don't  strike  me  yourself!" 

"  You  have  behaved  outrageously  to  me  !"  I  said,  dropping  my 
hand  as  soon  as  I  recovered  my  voice,  of  which  terror  and  sur- 
prise had  for  a  moment  deprived  me  ;  "  and  you  shall  be  beaten 
for  your  conduct,  and  sent  away  from  Bouverie  forever."  • 

"  Oh,  Miss  Lilian  1"  The  piteous  moaning  continued,  and  the 
contortions  and  shudderings  were  wonderful  to  behold.  I  could 
scarcely  help  laughing  at  them  in  the  midst  of  my  rage.  He 
could  not  have  employed  more  effectual  means  of  disarming  me. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  after  all,  Pat  ?"  I  said,  mollified  by  his 
excessive  and  caricatured  agony.  "  What  is  this  door  used  for  7 
—how  did  you  find  it  out  ? — and  how  dare  you  show  it  to  me  ?" 

"  Oh!  Miss  Lilian,  I  just  wanted  you  to  see  the  pretty  old  play- 

5* 


106  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

actor  man,  and  the  show  upstairs,  because  you  gave  me  your 
Bible  ball.  One  night  I  watched  when  Fabius  came  down,  and 
I  seed  in  the  moonshine  how  he  opened  and  shut  the  door  ;  I 
watched  him  a  heap  of  nights  before  I  crept  up  the  ladder,  and 
then  I  went  up  so  easy  that  the  very  mice  could  not  hear  me  ; 
and  I  seed  the  old  king  in  his  crimson  gownd,  or  maybe  it  was 
the  Pope  himself  I  seen.  And  the  Mistress  was  there,  dressed 
like  a  beautiful  queen — but  I  knowed  her  for  all  that ;  and  Dr. 
Quintil  was  there  ;  and  they  talked,  but  I  did  not  know  much 
what  they  said.  And-  then  I  crept  back,  softly — softly,  and  all  at 
once  I  fell  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  and  rolled  out  in  the  cellar, 
and  burst  the  spring  open — and  see,  Miss  Lilian,  how  loose 
it  is." 

I  looked  in  the  direction  of  his  pointing  hand,  but  as  he 
attempted  to  rise,  I  held  him  firmly  in  his  kneeling  position  by 
pressing  my  hand  on  his  head,  as  I  have  seen  children  hold  down 
a  Newfoundland  dog. 

"  Go  on,  Pat,"  I  said  sternly;  "  make  a  clean  breast  of  it  at 
once.  Imagine  that  I  represent  Bishop  Clare." 

"And  that  is  all,  Miss  Lilian;  indeed,  ma'am,  it  is,"  with  piteous 
grimaces.  "  Let  me  go,  Miss  Lilian,  and  I  will  never  trouble  you 
no  more." 

"  How  often  have  you  been  up  there,  Pat,  and  whom  have  you 
told  of  this  adventure  ?" 

"  The  witches  punished  me  so,  that  night,  I  never  went  back  ; 
and — and  I  was  afraid  to  tell  mammy,  and  I  never  told  nobcdy 
before,"  sobbing  fearfully. 

"  Put  your  hands  together,  Pat." 

"  Oh,  Miss  Lilian,  what  are  you  going  to  do  to  me  ?" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVERIE.  107 

"  Only  to  tie  them  with  my  rope;"  and  the  great  booby  put  hia 
shapeless  hands  together,  and  was  securely  bound  as  a  punishment 
for  his  misdemeanor.  Having  accomplished  this  feat,  I  permitted 
him  to  rise  and  depart,  first  assuring  him  that  if  his  visit  to  that 
basement  room  was  ever  repeated,  Dr.  Quintil  would  cause  him 
to  be  hung  in  the  orchard,  as  the  gardener  Smith  had  hung  his 
sheep-stealing  dog  ! "  To  which  threat  he  listened  with  depre- 
cating faith  and  solemnity. 

Before  I  left  the  conservatory,  I  closed  the  newly  discovered 
door,  and  mastered  the  secret  of  the  spring  which,  as  Pat  had  said, 
was  loosened  so  as  to  show  on  examination  between  the  starting 
planks.  I  saw  now  that  a  brick  partition  had  first  existed,  and 
that  the  slight  screen  of  plank  had  been  thrown  before  it,  so  as 
to  square  the  room,  and  inclose  the  steps  which,  as  there  was 
a  stairway  elsewhere  for  all  household  purposes,  were  not  of 
course  a  general  necessity.  The  ladder  had,  evidently  then,  been 
placed  there  for  some  peculiar  emergency,  and  with  an  object  of 
secrecy;  and  connecting  these  convictions  with  the  vague  disclosure 
of  Pat  McCormick,  I  felt  strengthened  in  the  belief  that  had, 
for  some  time  past,  wrestled  dimly  in  my  mind.  Moreover,  I  felt 
determined  now  to  place  this  matter  beyond  a  doubt,  if  daring  of 
mine  could  do  this;  and  having  achieved  such  knowledge  as  I 
desired,  I  would  tell  my  grandmother  of  the  idiot's  discovery, 
that  she  might  take  measures  to  guard  against  further  mischief 
from  that  source. 

"Rut  how  confess  the  part  I  had  resolved  to  take  in  the  matter  ? 
Was  it,  after  all,  necessary  to  refer  to  this  at  all  ?  And  even 
should  she  question  me,  was  I  bound  to  reply  to  her  interroga- 
tories ?  I  would  be  silent,  sullen,  injured ;  she  would  never  dream 
the  truth,  and  it  was  with  me  optional  to  reveal  it  or  not.  I 


108  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

would  conquer  this  mystery  that  had  been  shut  away  from  me 
with  such  system  and  unwearying  care,  and  preserve  it  still  a 
mystery,  if  only  to  feel  that  I  had  triumphed  over  every  obstacle 
caution  or  vigilance  could  oppose  to  unshrinking  will  I  would 
do  this,  or  die!" 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          109 


CHAPTER  IY. 

READER,  do  you  know  what  it  is  to  have  bad  and  bitter  blood 
conflicting,  in  your  veins,  with  the  mild  'and  milky  stream  that 
flows  through  them  in  greater  volume  and  tranquillity?  And  has 
it  been  your  lot  to  feel,  at  some  tune  of  your  life,  that  this  swell- 
ing tide  had  power  (unsuspected  before)  to  carry  everything 
before  it  ?  If  not,  take  no  merit  to  yourself  for  having  proved 
immaculate  and  defied  temptation. 

Sailing  on  the  Atlantic  ocean,  the  eye  of  the  voyager  is  arrested 
by  the  singular  appearance  presented  by  a  current  of  water 
darker  and  infinitely  more  rapid  than  the  surrounding  sea,  and 
said  by  sailors  to  be  twice  as  salt  and  bitter.  The  pilot  carefully 
keeps  the  ship  beyond  its  strictly  defined  limits;  the  stormy  petrel 
that  rests  on  its  surface,  rises  with  difficulty  or  is  submerged;  and 
the  small  boat  (launched  from  the  vessel  for  some  emergency), 
becomes  unmanageable,  if  chance  or  necessity  subject  it  to  the 
influence  of  its  rapid  current. 

Through  my  veins  there  surged  a  gulf  stream  such  as  this,  just 
as  separate  from  my  more  universal  nature,  just  as  irresistible  in 
in  its  effects,  just  as  wisely  shunned  by  my  reason,  as  the  current  I 
have  referred  to  by  the  wary  mariner.  As  old  Bianca  had  said, 
"  the  blood  of  the  Bouveries  boiled  in  my  veins,"  that  blood  which 
had  flowed  ever  to  evil ;  and  at  last  disappeared,  only  to  form  an 
undercurrent  in  the  heart  that  held  a  more  uniform  and  steady 
etream  as  its  abiding  influence. 

There  was  a  legend  in  my  grandfather's  family,  to  the  effect 


110  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

that  the  Norman  blood  they  boasted  had  flowed  lineally  from  a 
pirate's  veins,  and  had  later  been  crossed  by  intermarriage  with 
the  daughter  of  a  famous  French  charlatan  who  had  given  gold 
for  rank !  Be  this  as  it  may,  my  lineage  on  my  father's  side  was 
of  undoubted  purity  to  the  very  fount,  and  my  grandmother  had 
sprung  from  old  and  respected  Virginian  parentage;  so  that  the 
balance  of  good,  at  least,  was  in  my  favor. 

Yet  through  my  whole  life  I  have  felt  the  occasional  power  of  the 
gulf  stream,  and  dreaded  its  fierce  current,  though  time,  and  sorrow, 
and  experience  (the  last  a  wary  pilot)  have  shown  me  lately  how 
better  to  avoid  it,  than  in  my  impulsive  youth.  And  it  may  be 
that  whatever  of  power,  of  genius,  or  of  passion  have  been  mine, 
I  owed  to  this  conflict  of  two  natures  in  one  weak  breast,  teaching, 
as  it  did,  the  necessity  of  strength,  of  self-command  and  forbear- 
ance, to  the  overruling  soul  itself. 

I  have  nothing  to  urge  in  extenuation  of  the  deliberate  and 
willful  misconduct  that  followed  the  discovery  of  the  secret  door. 
I  might  plead  that  I  was  lonely,  and  that  excitement,  under  the 
circumstance  of  peculiar  isolation  from  all  congenial  companion- 
ship to  which  I  was  consigned,  possessed  for  me  an  unusual  charm. 
I  might  even  urge  the  precedents  of  female  curiosity,  from  Eve  to 
Fatima,  in  extenuation  of  the  determined  spirit  of  investigation 
that  possessed  me. 

But  I  scorn  to  seek  my  apology  either  in  circumstances  or  natu- 
ral motives,  or  the  example  of  others.  I  had  been  taught  better; 
I  knew  better,  and  che  voice  of  conscience  was  silenced  in  the 
hurricane  of  error  and  self-will.  I  had  even,  for  a  time,  a  sense 
of  perverse  enjoyment  in  my  power  to  triumph  over  precept  and 
precaution;  and  the  temptation  that  beset  me  was  as  strong  and 
irresistible  in  its  way,  as  the  love  of  Romeo  or  the  hate  of  Hamlet, 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  Ill 

or  the  ambition  of  Macbeth.  The  boat  of  reason  had  drifted 
into  that  fatal  gulf  stream,  and  was  the  plaything  of  its  force  I 

The  seed  the  poor  idiot  had  carelessly  thrown  down  on  a  fer- 
tile ^soil  germed  at  once  and  bore  its  bitter  harvest.  For  three 
days  the  conflict  went  on,  I  moved  like  one  in  a  dream  ;  I  could  not 
sleep  nor  eat,  nor  study,  nor  think,  nor  pray,  for  the  whirl  of 
fighting  emotions. 

The  steep  black  stair  was  always  before  my  eyes  ;  the  fantastic 
madman,  such  I  concluded  Pat  McCormick's  old  play-actor  man 
to  be,  ever  busy  in  my  brain,  the  desire  to  see  and  know  para- 
mount and  unquenchable.  Thus  wrought  the  black  and  bitter 
blood  of  Bouve,rie  ! 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  third  day  that  the  opportunity  I 
coveted  for  putting  my  design  into  execution  presented  itself  for 
the  first  time  since  it  had  occurred  to  me.  My  grandmother 
retired  to  her  room  early  in  the  evening,  as  she  not  unfrequently 
did,  and  closed  it  for  the  night,  leaving  me  in  the  dining-room 
with  Bianca,  who  was  charged  to  see  me  in  my  chamber  before 
she  left  me.  Dr.  Quintil,  too,  had  gone  to  his  study,  probably,  on 
this  occasion,  and  feigning  weariness  I  retired  early,  dismissing 
Bianca,  who  insisted  somewhat  on  seeing  me  in  bed,  at  my 
chamber  door,  and  waiting  afterward  with  almost  uncontrollable 
impatience  for  the  sound  of  her  parting  footsteps.  At  last  I 
heard  the  pantry  closed,  and  I  knew  that  Bianca  had  made  her 
exit  from  the  dining-room,  through  that  outlet  to  the  wing, 
carrying  the  key  away  with  her,  as  she  invariably  did,  after 
fastening  all  the  openings  of  the  house  securely  for  the  night,  and 
drawing  the  ponderous  bolt  last  of  all  across  the  front  door  of 
entrance. 

The  clock  had  not  long  struck  nine  when  the  house  was  still  ; 


112  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

but  I  sat  and  pondered  my  project  in  doubt  and  terroi,  half  an 
hour  longer. 

At  length  I  rose,  and  after  locking  that  door  of  my  chamber 
that  gave  into  my  grandmother's,  I  stole  quietly  from  the  other, 
and  unclosed  with  trembling  fingers  the  bolt  of  one  of  the  tri- 
angular closets  from  which  the  staircase  in  common  use  descended 
to  the  basement  scullery.  I  soon  found  myself  in  the  plant- 
chamber,  through  the  barred  windows  of  which  the  moonlight 
streamed,  throwing  out  sharp  and  startling  shadows  from  every 
object  it  touched,  and  glistening  on  the  steel  of  the  spring, 
between  the  crevices  of  the  planks,  of  which  the  partition  was 
composed,  so  as  to  reveal  it  more  clearly  than  impartial  daylight 
could  have  done. 

To  press  this  firmly,  to  start  the  door  open,  and  leave  it  so, 
to  clamber  up  the  dark,  steep  ladder  seemed  to  me  but  the  work 
of  a  moment.  When  I  reached  the  summit  I  found  myself  in  a 
small,  square,  but  lofty  hall,  lit  from  above  by  the  rays  of  light 
streaming  from  an  open  door  at  the  head  of  the  spiral  stairs, 
that  sprang  up  light,  and  apparently  unsupported,  from  this  land- 
ing. I  could  not  doubt  that  I  stood  in  the  division  of  the  lateral 
passage,  corresponding  with  my  own  chamber,  and  that  the 
mystery  that  guarded  its  access  was  now  explained  to  me.  A 
door  dimly  defined  by  a  wavering  hue  of  light  beneath  it, 
cast  from  the  blazing  wood-fire  within,  indicated  that  entrance 
to  my  grandmother's  room  from  which  I  had  seen  her  emerge 
with  Bishop  Clare,  and  which  had  been  so  carefully  closed  during 
my  whole  stay  at  Bouverie.  I  passed  it  with  a  stealthy  step  and 
beating  heart.  All  was  silent  within.  She  slept  probably  !  and 
yet,  "  What  if  she  should  suddenly  unclose  the  door  and  appear 
before  me,  either  going  or  returning  !"  "  What  would  become 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEBIE.  118 

of  me  ;  how  could  I  meet  such  a  reprimand  as  hers  would  be  ? 
Her  very  look  would  kill  me  ?" 

The  suggestion,  full  of  terrors  as  it  was,  gave  speed  to  my  steps. 
I  flew  lightly  up  the  winding  stairway,  and  so  rapidly  that  my 
head  reeled  with  the  rotary  motion  to  which  it  was  subjected  by 
my  whirling  flight.  I  reached  the  summit,  breathless  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  stood  holding  firmly  by  the  padded  banisters,  covered 
like  the  steps  and  the  hall  below,  with  some  heavy  woollen  ma- 
terial to  prevent  sound,  until  I  recovered  somewhat  from  both 
fatigue  and  fright.  I  had  gone  too  far  to  recede  ;  I  took  what 
courage  I  could  and  crossed  the  landing  to  the  open  door,  whence 
the  light  emanated,  and  looked  timidly  in. 

The  room  into  which  it  gave  was  empty  !  It  was  a  spacious, 
circular  apartment,  vaulted  and  domed,  and  corresponding  evi- 
dently with  the  lower  hall — but  far  more  lofty  and  elegantly  pro- 
portioned. In  the  centre,  immediately  under  the  skylight,  was  a 
large,  round  table  covered  with  a  crimson  cloth,  on  which  burned 
an  Argand  lamp  and  several  wax-candles,  in  sticks  of  ormolu. 
Books  and  papers  were  scattered  profusely  over  this*  table,  on 
which  a  portfolio  of  colored  prints  lay  open. 

A  solid  marble  counter,  as  it  appeared  to  me,  was  placed  al- 
most against  the  extreme  wall  of  the  apartment,  so  as  to  block  a 
central  door,  leading  out,  perhaps,  on  the  balcony  over  the  vesti- 
bule (but  this  I  did  not  think  of  then),  and  covered  with  curious 
utensils  in  glass  and  copper,  whose  uses  were  entirely  unknown 
to  me. 

A  few  long  chairs,  some  hanging  bookshelves  and  maps,  and  a 
cabinet  of  minerals,  completed  the  scant  furniture  of  this  apart- 
ment, the  walls  of  which  were  lined  with  pictures,  and  the  floor 
covered  with  crimson  baize,  so  fitted  as  to  render  footsteps  inaudible 


114  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

The  sound  of  voices  beyond,  irresistibly  impelled  me  to  proceed  ; 
and,  with  a  hardihood  I  could  neither  account  for  nor  withstand, 
I  crossed  the  hall,  and  stood  near  the  half  open  door  from  which 
the  sounds  issued.  By  the  merest  chance,  the  faces  of  all  the  in- 
mates were  averted,  or  I  must  have  been  discovered  at  once  ;  but 
I  speedily  assumed  an  attitude  that  would  have  afforded  me  con- 
cealment, even  had  they  turned,  and  eagerly  surveyed  the  scene. 

A  fire  burned  low  in  the  grate,  in  front  of  which  a  table  was 
placed,  bearing  lights,  and  fruit,  and  wine,  and  perhaps  other  re- 
freshments. The  company,  consisting  of  a  lady  and  two  gentle- 
men, sat  with  their  backs  to  this  table,  gathered  closely  around 
the  hearth,  and  engaged  in  earnest  conversation,  to  which  at  first 
I  paid  but  little  attention  ;  on  the  other  side  of  the  table,  with  his 
face  turned  also  to  the  fire,  stood  Fabius,  in  the  attitude  of  a 
soldier  on  guard,  holding  a  silver  salver  shield-fashion  on  his 
breast. 

One  of  the  gentlemen  was  already  known  to  me.  The  patient 
and  somewhat  peculiar  attitude,  the  dark  brown  clustering  curls, 
the  curved  shoulders,  the  calmly  folded  hands,  were  those  of  Dr. 
Quintil.  My  grandmother  was  dressed  in  one  of  those  dresses  I 
had  admired  and  coveted.  A  garnet-colered  velvet,  trimmed 
royally,  and  made  with  pointed  corsage  and  large  flowing  sleeves 
became  her  well.  Over  her  head  was  thrown  a  golden  net,  and 
her  cheek,  half  turned  to  me  at  times,  wore  its  crimson  flush  of 
feeling  or  excitement. 

But  the  third  occupant  of  the  hearth-stone  was  one  I  had  never 
seen  before,  though  the  mystery  of  his  presence  had  long  weighed 
on  my  spirit ;  and  oh  !  how  impressive — how  thrilling  its  reality 
was  to  me  at  last !  At  first  I  beheld  only  the  long,  sweeping, 
steel-colored  hair,  as  it  fell  over  his  collar  almost  to  his  shoulders. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          115 

and  the  outline  of  a  form  which,  though  emaciated,  still  presented 
traces  of  remarkable  symmetry.  But,  when  he  turned,  I  searched 
every  feature  of  his  face  with  breathless  eagerness. 

Though  changed  by  tune,  by  ill-health,  by  trouble,  perhaps,  I 
I  could  not  doubt  that  the  original  of  the  picture  I  had  uncovered 
two  years  before  in  the  drawing-room  was  before  me. 

The  forehead  of  the  mysterious  stranger  was  high,  narrow,  and 
projecting  ;  the  eyes,  small,  and  dark,  and  deeply  set,  were  of  in- 
tense and  glistening  brilliancy  ;  the  face,  of  unusual  paleness,  was 
of  olive  tint,  and  slender  proportions,  to  which  the  regularity  and 
delicacy  of  the  profile  gave  repose  and  dignity,  otherwise  wanting, 
for  every  feature  seemed  imbued  with  separate  life  and  mobility. 

The  restless  eye,  the  dilating  nostril,  the  wreathing,  quivering, 
brilliant,  yet  sardonic  lip,  now  closely  set  as  with  clasps  of  steel — 
now  straight,  now  curved,  now  revealing  its  treasures  of  ivory 
teeth,  in  a  smile  of  more  than  womanish  sweetness — now  wearing 
an  expression  of  almost  wolfish  fierceness,  or  the  despairing  anguish 
of  a  doomed  and  hopeless  soul.  These  mobile  features,  and 
especially  that  flexible  mouth,  indicated  a  nature  too  subtle,  too 
changeful,  too  willful,  yet  too  sensitive,  either  for  happiness  or 
strength. 

Never  have  I  beheld  such  a  Protean  countenance,  nor  one  that 
so  well  portrayed  the  inward  man  !  Yet  think  not,  that  inexpe- 
rienced as  I  was,  and  in  that  brief  scrutiny  of  mingled  terror  and 
interest,  I  arrived  by  any  just  process  of  thought  at  these  conclu- 
sions. The  result  of  this  subsequent  analysis  was  stamped  on  my 
mind  then  and  there,  as  the  solution  of  difficult  problems  is  often 
instinctively  obtained  by  those  incapable  of  mathematical  ratioci- 
nation. Instinct  works  well,  when  nerved  by  strong  excitement, 
as  sustained  me  in  this  momentary  survey. 


116  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

The  face  on  which  my  gaze  was  riveted  was  quickly  turned  from 
me  again  ;  and  now  my  grandmother  arose  from  her  seat  beside 
him,  and  pointed  to  the  table,  still  spread  with  its  untouched 
collation. 

"  Your  food  stands  untouched  to-night,  Erastus,"  I  heard  her 
say  ;  "  you  grow  thinner,  paler,  day  by  day,  and  your  loss  of  ap- 
petite is  cause  enough  for  this.  Eat,  or  your  strength  will 
decline." 

"  I  find  a  few  drops  of  the  elixir  of  gold  more  strengthening  to 
me  at  times  than  food  itself,  and  this  I  keep  always  by  me  ;  but 
when  you  are  here,  madam,"  he  added,  "  I  need  neither  to  sus- 
tain me." 

"  How  long  will  you  continue,"  she  asked,  unheeding  the  fine 
courtesy  of  his  remark,  "to  make  use  of  this  fabulous  instrument 
of  good — this  subtle  poison,  that  wastes  your  substance,  and  de- 
stroys your  health  ?  Will  nothing  convince  you  ?" 

"  I  am  convinced,"  he  interrupted  mildly,  "  of  its  complete  effi- 
cacy in  sustaining  my  feeble  life  ;  and  of  the  glory  the  discovery, 
or  rather  perfection,  of  so  potent  an  agent  of  health,  will  yet  con- 
fer on  me  and  mine." 

"  Glory  !" — with  what  bitterness  she  repeated  the  word — with 
what  speechless  sorrow  she  gazed  on  him  ! 

"  Resume  your  reading,  if  you  please,  Dr.  Quintil,"  she  said, 
after  a  pause,  during  which  the  person  addressed  had  taken  down 
a  volume  laid  open  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  was  slowly  turning 
over  its  leaves.  "There  is  something  in  that  picture  of  Acadian 
life  irresistibly  beautiful,  I  think,  and  far  more  cheering  to  one 
shut  away  from  nature  than  any  conversation  of  ours  could  be." 

Without  hesitation  or  the  slightest  reply,  Dr.  Quintil  took  up 
the  thread  of  the  poem  he  had  been  reading,  and  traced  it  on  me1 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  117 

chanically,  as  if  he  had  been  only  an  instrument  for  another  to 
play  on,  until  arrested  by  the  uplifted  hand  of  him  they  called 
"Erastus." 

"  It  is  beautiful,"  l.e  said ;  "  I  acknowledge  that ;  but  it  touches 
no  spring  of  my  being,  either  in  the  past  or  present.  One  blast 
from  Byron's  bugle  were  worth  twenty  strains  like  this — one 
breeze  from  the  ^olian  harp  of  Shelley,  more  soul-stirring  than 
whole  orchestras  of  such  music.  Take  him  down,  Quintil — the 
man  whose  heart  remained  untouched  when  his  body  was  burnt  to 
ashes  on  the  Tuscan  coast — and  give  me  the  '  Ode  to  the  West 
Wind.'  It  will  comfort  me  to-night,  the  grand — the  godlike 
fugue  !  And  hark,  how  that  very  wind,  perhaps,  is  blowing  1 
But  no,"  he  added,  "  never  mind  !"  as  Dr.  Quintil  arose  to  obey 
his  request.  "  You  read  very  well,  Quintil,  but  you  could  not 
manage  that — few  can  ;  I  could  once,  but  now — but  now  " — 

And  he  sat  for  a  few  moments  with  his  head  bowed  as  if  trans- 
figured in  the  past,  or  crushed,  perhaps,  by  the  present ;  then,  in 
low  distinct  tones,  more  thrilling — more  musical  than  any  I  had 
ever  heard  before,  shall  ever  listen  to  again,  and  with  that  pe- 
culiar "  abandon,"  that  evidences  entire  forgetfulness  of,  or  in« 
difference  to  the  presence  of  witnesses,  he  gave  the  conclusion  of 
the  ode  he  had  spoken  of,  beginning  with  the  lines  : 

"  Oh !  lift  me  as  a  wave,  a  leaf,  a  cloud ; 
I  fall  upon  the  thorns  of  life — I  bleed ! 
A  heavy  weight  of  hours  has  chained  and  bowed 
One  too  like  thee  !  Tameless  and  swift,  and  proud — " 

And  continuing  to  the  close,  he  went  on  : 

"  Make  me  thy  lyre,  even  as  the  forest  is ; 
What,  if  my  leaves  are  falling  like  its  own ! 
The  tumult  of  thy  mighty  harmonies, 


118  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE. 

Will  take  from  both  a  deep  autumnal  tone, 

Sweet  though  in  sadness  !     Be  thou,  spirit  fierce, 

My  spirit !  be  thou  me,  impetuous  one ; 

Drive  my  dead  thoughts  over  the  universe, 
Like  withered  leaves,  to  quicken  a  new  birth, 
And  by  the  incantation  of  this  verse, 
Scatter— as  from  an  unextinguished  hearth, 
Ashes  and  sparks — my  word  among  mankind!" 

These  verses  he  gave  utterance  to  with  a  power  and  pathos, 
subdued  as  both  were,  to  which  no  words  of  mine  could  do 
justice,  and  I  felt  thrilled  and  uplifted  by  the  inspiration  of  both 
author  and  medium  as  I  had  never  felt  before. 

"  A  pastoral  poem  in  an  age  of  progress  is  surely  out  of  place, 
behind  the  times,"  he  said,  when  the  echo  of  the  poem,  if  so  I 
may  express  it,  had  time  to  die  away  in  his  own  mind,  and  the 
silence  of  others  seemed  to  grow  oppressive. 

"  And  yet,"  rejoined  Dr.  Quintil,  "  it  is  a  noble  thing,  niethinks, 
for  a  great  poet,  to  throw  out  his  powers  freely  to  celebrate  the 
legends  of  his  country.  Thus  did  Homer,  thus  did  Walter 
Scott  ;  let  our  bard  persevere,  and  we  will  crown  him  yet  our 
"  national  poet,"  a  higher  post  than  Poet  Laureate  of  England 
has  ever  attained.  A  few  more  such  strains,  and  he  will  be  em- 
balmed in  the  heart  of  the  people,  to  live  while  the  land  bears  its 
name  1" 

My  grandmother  here  took  up  the  discourse,  and  under  the 
cover  of  this  conversation  I  retreated  as  carefully  as  I  had  ap- 
proached. Again  I  scrambled  down  the  dark  ladder,  loosening, 
as  I  tried  to  reach  its  rounds,  a  trap-door  which  had  been  propped 
back,  but  which  closed  with  a  noiseless  fall  after  me,  leaving  me 
•  in  utter  darkness.  The  moon  was  now  veiled  by  heavy  clouds, 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEKIE.  119 

and  the  plant-room  was  so  dark  that  I  found  difficulty  in  groping 
my  way  to  the  basement  apartment  used  as  a  sort  of  scullery,  and 
from  which  the  stairs  in  general  use  ascended. 

These,  too,  were  steep  and  narrow,  and  dark,  and  when  I 
reached  my  room  and  struck  a  light,  I  found  my  dress  half  torn 
off,  and  my  hands  bleeding  in  several  places."  I  did  not  say  my 
prayers  that  night,  but  slunk  like  a  guilty  creature  to  my  bed, 
with  the  mental  resolution  complete,  however,  never  to  return  to 
the  upper  story,  until  invited  to  do  so  by  my  grandmother  ! 

"  Yet,  will  this  request  ever  be  made,"  I  thought ;  "  and  what, 
what  does  all  this  mean  ?"  And  I  lay  with  my  face  covered  by 
my  hands,  conjecturing,  marvelling,  excited  beyond  any  possibility 
of  repose  for  hours,  at  the  end  of  which  I  heard  my  grandmother 
enter  through  her  cautiously  opened  door,  and  her  low,  sobbing 
voice  soothed  rue  to  an  unquiet  slumber. 

I  had  heard  before,  at  rare  intervals,  that  sound  of  sorrow  from 
her  chamber,  and  going  to  her  impulsively  on  one  occasion,  she 
had  lifted  before  me  a  face  so  grave  in  its  dignified  displeasure, 
though  bathed  in  tears,  that  I  shrank  away  rebuked  from  her 
presence. 

Oh  !  luxury  of  solitary  grief — sole  consolation  of  the  broken- 
hearted— how  dear  thou  art — how  little  understood  by  those 
who  have  no  experience  of  suffering  1 

Pillow,  that  wet  with  tears  hast  so  often  smothered  the  moans 
of  deep  affliction,  and  received  as  in  a  friendly  bosom  the  quiver- 
ing and  passionate  face  of  extremist  agony  !  Dost  thou  not  seem 
thereafter  an  altar  on  which  sacrifice  to  God  has  been  offered  ? 

Calm,  and  even  with  sad  smiles,  the  mourner  rises  from  thy  sus- 
taining ministry,  and  through  her  household,  or  the  crowded 
streets,  or  the  homes  of  others,  pursues  her  quiet  away  ! 


120  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVERIE. 

She  speaks  of  common  things,  she,  whose  whole  life  is  a  secret 
tragedy  !  Her  lips  receive  their  daily  food  ;  she  bears  her  daily 
burdens,  waiting,  yearning,  pining  for  the  shadow,  for  the  welcome 
soul-sustaining  hour,  when  she  shall  be  alone. 

Sympathy  is  precious,  as  was  the  spikenard  balm  that  Mary 
poured  on  the  feet  of  Jesus,  but  solitude  is  sacred,  for  it  means 
communion  with  God  himself  ;  and  accursed  be  that  falcon  eye  of 
vigilance  that  pursues  and  mocks,  under  the  guise  of  solicitude, 
and  with  its  stern  compulsion  of  self-command,  the  surging 
anguish  of  the  stricken  and  bereaved  ! 

Is  it  nothing  in  the  estimate  of  those  who  preach  of  patience,  to 
move,  unmoved,  all  day  through  the  routine  of  duty,  to  utter  no 
wild  cry  when  a  word  is  suddenly  spoken,  that  makes  the  heart 
leap  like  a  steed  that  snaps  his  bridle  at  the  explosion  of  a  gun  ? 

Is  it  nothing  to  such  as  these  that  tears  are  swallowed  with 
every  mouthful  of  loathed  jet  necessary  food  ;  and  that  there 
exists  sometimes,  even  when  smiles  are  on  the  lip,  that  nameless 
sinking  away  of  the  whole  being,  as  though  its  fountain-springs 
were  failing  at  their  source  in  the  arid  desert  of  unseen  despair  ! 

"What  more  do  you  ask — oh,  practical  philosopher,  preacher, 
and  pharisee  ! — what  more  ? 

Will  you  not  suffer  the  doomed  martyr  to  rest  from  the  stake 
for  a  little  while,  even  while  fresh  fagots  are  preparing  for  the 
half-exhausted  fire 

The  crowd  will  re-assemble,  the  pangs  will  recommence.  Suffer, 
I  entreat  you,  the  tortured  wretch  to  sit  for  a  space  upon  the 
ground,  among  the  ashes  in  the  abandonment  of  self-pity,  and 
gaze  weeping  upon  her  scars  ! 

Leave  self-command  for  the  morrow  1 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          121 


CHAPTER  V. 

WE  met  as  usual  at  the  breakfast-board  on  the  morning  suc- 
ceeding my  adventure.  As  far  as  appearances  went  at  least  there 
was  no  change  ;  but  a  great  struggle  was  going  on  in  the  breast 
of  one  of  that  household,  destined  ere  long  to  burst  to  light,  and 
KO  find  partial  relief. 

I  began  to  see  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  there  was  com- 
fort in  one  peculiarity  of  the  Catholic  faith,  and  that  a  great 
principle  in  human  nature  was  carried  out  in  the  confessional.  It 
may  be,  it  no  doubt  is,  sometimes  perverted  (of  what  institution 
cannot  this  be  said  ?)  but  that  to  the  lonely  and  sick-hearted, 
yearning  for  sympathy  and  counsel,  it  bears  a  world  of  strength 
and  consolation,  cannot  be  with  any  truth  or  plausibility  even 
denied. 

Disinterested  counsel  !  Where  else  can  it  be  so  certainly  ob- 
tained  ?  Sympathy  divested  of  earthly  motives  !  from  whom 
other  than  the  anointed  priest  of  God  have  we  a  right  to  expect 
it  ?  Acknowledgment  of  error,  so  dear  a  privilege  to  the  noble 
and  repentant  of  heart  ?  Go  make  it  to  your  nearest  friend,  and 
wear  the  yoke  of  shame  for  ever  afterward  !  There  is  not  mag- 
nanimity enough  among  men,  nor  women  either,  to  justify  such  a 
proceeding  ;  nor  to  recognize  the  true  nobility  of  voluntary  self- 
humiliation. 

In  less  than  a  week  after  my  visit  to  the  sealed  chamber  of 
Bouverie,  during  which  I  was  a  prey  to  the  tortures  of  remorse 
and  shame,  a  conversation  at  the  dinner-table  seemed  to  mj1 


122  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

morbid  mind  to  point  to  the  discovery  of  my  transgression. 
Doctor  Quintil  was  fond  of  metaphysical  discussion,  a  species  of 
argument  from  which  my  grandmother  usually  shrank  ;  but  on 
this  occasion  she  had  entered  with  much  spirit  into  the  subject 
proposed,  and  finally,  the  discourse  settled  on  an  estimate  of 
mental  qualities,  made  by  a  French  philosopher,  and  entirely 
differing  from  the  commonly  received  opinions  as  to  the  scale  in 
which  they  should  be  considered. 

"  He  says  that  order  is  happiness,"  said  Dr.  Quintil  ;  "  and  I 
suppose,  that,  involving  as  it  usually  does,  peace  and  permanence, 
he  may  be  right." 

"  It  is  the  best  compromise  we  can  make  with  happiness  in 
this  unsettled  world,"  rejoined  my  grandmother  ;  "  but  as  for  the 
thing  itself,  it  involves  some  higher  elements,  I  am  thinking." 

"  Keeping  my  closet  in  order  would  never  make  me  happy  !" 
I  broke  in,  with  impulsive  levity. 

"  But  keeping  your  mind  and  body  a.nd  temper  in  order  would 
make  you  happy,"  said  Dr.  Quintil,  "  if  anything  earthly  could. 
All  other  desirable  consequences  would  follow  such  a  state  of 
things." 

"  I  agree  fully  with  our  philosopher,  that  patience  is  the 
noblest  quality  known  to  man,"  my  grandmother  said — "  I 
know  no  other  so  godlike." 

"  Oh,  grandmother  !  I  said  ;  a  hen  is  patient  !" 

"  Jesus  was  patient,"  she  answered,  gravely  ;  "  patient  and 
long-suffering  ;  we  need  no  other  example." 

Constancy  would  have  been  the  better  term,  I  think,"  said 
Doctor  Quiutil ;  "  for  it  involves  patience  and  something  higher, 
and  that  after  all  is  what  our  philosopher  was  trying  to  ar- 
rive at." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          123 

"  Constancy  is  a  good  thing  in  its  way,"  my  grandmother 
remarked,  drily  enough,  I  thought  ;  "  but  oftener  an  evidence  of 
weakness,  than  of  strength,  I  believe,  if  truth  were  told.  No  I 
abstract  patience  is  the  greater  quality  of  the  two — the  greatest 
quality  any  human  being  can  possess." 

"  He  esteems   envy   the   worst  passion,"     said   Dr.  Quintil. 

"  And  cowardice  is  the  meanest,  grandmother,  I  think  ;  "for 
that  includes  falsehood  and  baseness  of  all  sorts,  does  it  not  ?"  I 
hazarded. 

"  I  think  not;  a  man  may  be  a  physical  coward  and  yet  love  the 
truth  and  his  fellow-creatures.  I  believe,  Lilian,  that  I  place 
undue  curiosity  still  lower  in  the  moral  scale  than  cowardice, 
although  one  Frenchman  thinks  otherwise.  Curiosity,  Lilian," 
(speaking  very  emphatically)  "  is  the  quality  I  most  detest." 

And  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  me  with  a  peculiar  and  unmistak- 
able meaning.  I  rose  and  left  the  table  in  tears. 

She  had  struck  home,  and  I  went  weeping  to  my  room.  A  few 
moments  later  I  heard  my  grandmother  calling  me  from  her 
chamber.  I  obeyed  her  summons  instantly,  and  stood  with  down- 
cast eyes  before  her  chair. 

"  You  resented  my  remark  just  now,  Lilian,  as  if  you  were  con- 
scious of  possessing  that  hideous  quality — the  sin  that  wrecked 
the  human  race  1  Be  good  enough  to  explain,  why  you  appro- 
priated the  observation  ?" 

"  Oh,  grandmother  !"  and  I  bowed  my  face  in  my  hands, 
"  Lilian,"  she  went  on,  evidently  moved,  for  her  voice  trembled  ; 
"  when  you  withdrew  the  curtain  so  sacred  in  my  eyes,  was  there 
no  internal  monitor  to  rebuke — to  warn  you  that  you  were  doing 
wrong  ?  Are  you  hardened  in  self-will  ?  Lilian,  I  'had  feared 
this." 


124:  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOITVERIE. 

"  Indeed,  indeed,"  I  said,  "  I  have  wished  to  tell  you," — and  I 
removed  my  hands  from  my  face  and  gazed  earnestly  into  hers — 
"  I  know  that  I  am  very  mean,  very  degraded  in  your  sight,  and 
that  my  curiosity  has  led  me  to  this  discovery  of  your  secret,  so 
painful  to  us  both  ;  but " 

She  rose — she  stood  before  me  with  flashing  eyes  and  white  and 
quivering  lips,  and  blanching  cheek,  and  grasped  my  shoulder 
with  her  bloodless  hand — strong  as  steel,  and  cold  as  death. 

"  Child,"  she  said,  gasping  for  breath  ;  "  speak  truly,  what 
have  you  discovered  ?" 

The  flash  of  evidence  was  irresistible — I  saw  my  mistake  at 
once,  and  whither  her  reference  pointed. 

A  day  or  two  before,  I  had  for  the  second  time,  unveiled  my 
grandfather's  picture,  to  convince  myself  of  his  identity  with  the 
concealed  inmate  of  Bouverie.  She  had  heard  of  or  seen  this  pro- 
bably unperceived  by  me.  Her  allusion  was  a  literal  one  when 
she  spoke  of  the  curtain  ;  I  had  accepted  it  figuratively  ;  but  it 
was  too  late  to  recede  now.  The  whole  truth  must  be  told,  and 
it  were  better  thus.  It  was  not  until  she  repeated  her 
question  with  all  its  first  emphasis  that  I  found  courage  to  reply. 

I  sank  on  my  knees  and  avowed  the  whole.  As  I  proceeded  in 
the  story  of  my  temptation,  and  succumbing  to  the  master  passion 
that  had  for  a  time  possessed  me,  her  face  softened,  relaxed,  her 
hands  dropped  on  her  knees — for  she  had  taken  her  seat  again 
during  my  recital — and  tears  rolled  over  her  pallid  cheeks. 

When  I  had  concluded  my  relation,  she  held  my  hands  mutely 
in  her  own  for  a  long  time.  My  face  was  hidden  now  in  her  lap  ; 
but  I  felt  her  hot  slow  tears  falling  one  by  one,  on  my  bare  neck, 
£,nd  quivering  in  my  hair,  each  one  a  reproach  and  fiery  anguish 
to  my  spirit. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          125 

"  Lilian,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  would  have  spared  you  this  ; 
you  were  free,  you  were  happy.  I  wished  you  to  remain  so  ; 
but  you  have  lain  down  your  neck  to  the  yoke  of  the  Bouveries, 
and  you  must  bear  it — yet  is  it  hard  to  bear.  Concealment  is  a 
wearing  thing  to  any  mind  ;  but  above  all,  is  it  unendurable  to 
the  young  and  light-hearted."  She  paused  for  a  minute,  and 
then  continued — 

"  It  was  a  great — an  untold  pleasure  to  me,  to  witness  your 
uncontrolled  and  innocent  joy,  and  to  feel  that  you  were  shielded 
from  the  sorrow  of  this  house.  You  were  to  me,  my  child,  as  a 
flower — a  bird — a  ray  of  sunshine,  piercing  these  gloomy  walls — a 
direct  and  palpable  gift  from  a  pitying  Father  to  one  of  his  most 
desolate  children.  Thus  I  regarded  you.  I  am  sorry  this  delu- 
sion is  dispelled — I  am  stricken  thus  early  by  your  hand  ;  and,  for 
your  part,  you  have  chosen  the  harder  lot,  when  both  were  spread 
before  you.  The  shadow  of  a  great  sorrow,  and  a  great  shame, 
must  fall  over  you,  and  darken  your  young  life.  Can  you  bear  it, 
Lilian  ? — can  you  bear  it  ?" 

"  Grandmother,"  I  said,  looking  up,  and  clasping  my  hands 
on  her  knee,  "  we  will  bear  this  burden  together,  and  you  shall 
teach  me  how  to  do  my  part." 

"  No,  Lilian,  I  am  nothing  in  a  case  like  this.  Who  will  sus- 
tain you  under  its  crushing  necessities  ? — not  I,  surely,  made  weak 
and  apathetic  by  long  suffering.  Who,  then,  Lilian  ?" 

"  God  will  sustain  me,  grandmother,"  I  said,  rising  to  my  feet, 
and  standing  erect  before  her. 

She  regarded  me  with  earnest  attention.  "  It  may  be  so,"  she 
said  at  last,  with  solemn  humility.  "  I  trust  you  are  nearer  to 
him  than  I  have  ever  been.  He  has  his  own  good  reasons  for 
receiving  some,  and  rejecting  others.  I  bow,  but  understand  not." 


126  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVERIE. 

Then,  after  gazing  forward  intently  and  silently  for  a  few 
minutes,  she  said,  in  low,  thrilling  accents,  as  she  clasped  her 
hands — accents  of  indescribable  pathos — "  It  is  long  since  He  has 
withdrawn  from  me  1" 

I  shall  never  forget  the  surpassing  sorrow  that  these  simple 
words  revealed,  nor  the  effect  they  created  on  my  heart.  1 
trembled,  and  the  cold  dew  started  to  my  brow  ;  and,  for  a  mo 
ment,  I  felt  as  if  the  floor  was  sliding  from  under  my  feet. 

What  substance  was  there — what  reality — what  hope — what 
stay  in  life  or  death,  if  this  could  be  ?  To  be  God-forsaken  !  I 
had  never  thought  that  there  could  be  so  terrible  a  doom — I 
would  not  think  so  now  ! 

Yet  I  could  find  no  words  wherewith  to  gainsay  that  accusa- 
tion— for  such  I  felt  it — against  my  Creator.  I  could  only 
mutely  pray,  then  and  thenceforth,  that  the  heart  that  uttered  it 
might,  through  the  extent  of  his  mercy,  be  brought  near  to  its 
Maker  again. 

And  impotent  to  aid,  I  withdrew  silently. 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVERIE.  127 


*  ,; 

CHAPTER  YI 

SOME  effective  threat  or  punishment — milder,  I  trust,  however, 
in  its  character,  than  the  torture  of  the  darning-needle  and  the 
biscuit-board — must  have  sealed  the  poor  idiot's  lips.  He  never 
passed  me,  for  a  long  time  after  my  confession  to  my  grandmother, 
without  deprecating  signs  of  fear  or  entreaty  ;  and  his  whole  de- 
meanor was  calculated  to  inspire  both  pity  and  derision. 

Sometimes  he  would  clasp  one  of  his  huge  claw-like  hands 
tightly  over  his  mouth,  and  extend  the  other  in  a  cringing  way,  as 
he  had  done  when  begging  for  my  "  Bible  ball,"  as  he  called  the 
plaything — poor  wretch,  what  a  conceit !  Again,  veiling  his  eyes 
with  his  extended  fingers,  he  would  watch  me  through  the  crevice 
between  them,  as  I  have  seen -some  preachers  do  their  congrega- 
tion ;  or,  perhaps,  loll  out  his  great  red  tongue  at  me,  in  a  manner 
common  to  fatuitous  people. 

The  entrance  to  the  secret  stair  had  been  altered,  I  knew,  in  a 
single  night — Fabius  and  Dr.  Quintil  working  hard  to  effect  this 
change  before  morning,  consisting,  as  it  did,  simply  in  removing 
the  ladder  to  another  room — thereafter  kept  locked — and  pointing 
it  to  the  same  landing  through  a  different  opening.  All  traces  of 
the  secret  door  in  the  conservatory  were  effaced ;  and  Pat 
McCormick's  idiotic  curiosity,  if  it  still  existed,  was  completely 
foiled.  But  was  it  safe  to  trust  to  the  feebleness  of  his  memory, 
or  the  existence  of  momentary  terror,  as  safeguards  against  his 
future  revelations  ? 


128  THE   HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

"  Why  not  send  Pat  away  altogether,  grandmother  ?"  I  asked, 
"  he  is  so  irresponsible  1" 

"  Send  him  where,  Lilian  ?  To  whisper  and  scatter  our  secret 
of  life  and  death  throughout  the  land  ?  No  ;  we  must  keep  him 
here,  and  control  him.  Besides,  his  mammy  is  entitled  to  some 
consideration  in  the  matter.  She  is  an  old  family  servant,  though 
never  a  favorite  one  of  mine  ;  and  necessity  has  placed  me  greatly 
in  her  power.  She  has  my  confidence." 

I  would  have  said,  "  What  is  this  secret  of  life  and  death  to 
which  you  allude  ?  Why  am  I  to  be  shut  out  from  confidence 
accorded  to  servants  ?  Tell  me  all,  and  I  will  never  betray  you, 
while  reason  remains  to  me.  More  than  this,  my  own  blood  is 
concerned  in  the  mystery,  and  I  have  a  right  to  know." 

But  her  manner  precluded  words  like  these.  It  rose  like  an  icy 
barrier  between  us ;  and,  remembering  that  she  had  esteemed 
patience  a  "  godlike  quality,"  I  determined  to  lean  on  this  staff, 
and  await  the  issue.  Think  not  that  my  curiosity  was  laid  at  rest 
— I  cannot  boast  of  a  conquest  over  self  like  this  ;  but  it  had 
assumed  a  nobler  shape  since  the  conviction  had  forced  itself  on 
my  reason  that  the  lonely  occupant  of  those  upper  chambers  was 
he  from  whom  my  very  life  had  flowed. 

Nothing  of  this  sort  had  been  explained  to  me  ;  the  resemblance 
to  the  picture  in  the  drawing-room,  the  spoken  name  "  Erastus," 
were  the  tenures  to  which  my  belief  attached  itself ;  and  some- 
thing like  electric  affinity  seemed  to  bind — to  draw  me  to  that 
desolate  being,  an  exile  from  society,  from  nature,  from  change, 
from  all  that  cheers  and  animates  human  existence,  and  makes  it 
worthy  of  the  name  of  life. 

Ineffable  pity  was  mingled  with  every  thought  of  him,  and  1 
yearned  with  an  intense  desire  to  know  the  cause  of  his  sufferings 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  129 

and  to  be  permitted  to  aid — if  such  power  indeed  were  mine — in 
alleviating  them. 

My  grandmother  had,  in  the  beginning  of  her  knowledge  of  my 
discovery,  exacted  from  me  a  solemn  pledge  of  secrecy.  She  had 
made  me  swear  on  that  book  which  she  knew  I  revered  with  no 
common  reverence,  that  no  circumstance  in  life  should  extract 
from  me  one  word,  spoken  or  written,  on  the  subject  of  the  con- 
cealed inmate  of  Bouverie. 

Having  done  this,  she  seemed  to  dismiss  the  subject  from  all 
further  consideration.  Her  cheerfulness  returned,  and  her  manner 
to  me  was  more  than  ever  frank  and  conciliating,  and  even  aflfec- 
tionate.  Yet,  as  she  had  said,  the  shadow  of  concealment  fell 
darkly  over  me,  opposed,  as  it  was,  to  every  instinct  of  my  nature. 
I  was  constrained  and  silent.  I  moped  in  lonely  places.  I 
grieved,  more  than  ever,  for  Jasper's  sympathy  and  counsel — my 
refuge,  hitherto,  when  distressed — and  chafed  against  my  stagnant 
and  cornpanionless  life  with  rebellious  bitterness.  This  mood  of 
mine  did  not  pass  unobserved — at  least  Dr.  Quintil  spoke  to  me 
about  it. 

"  Our  bird  is  silent,"  he  said  one  day,  when  he  saw  me  more 
than  usually  depressed — "  silent  and  ill  at  ease  1  I  miss  that 
lark's  voice  in  the  morning.  I  have  not  heard  my  Lilian's  joyous 
carol  this  many  a  day." 

I  hung  my  head  without  replying. 

He  took  my  hand  kindly.  "  I  know  all,  Lilian,"  he  said,  "  and 
have  made  every  allowance  for  youthful  indiscretion;  you  must  not 
grieve  any  longer." 

"  Does  Jasper  know,"  I  asked,  "of  him  I  mean?" 

"  Jasper  does  know,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  between  you  two  there 
»*an  be  no  communion  on  that  subject.  To  him  as  well  as  to 


130  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE. 

yourself,  that  occupant — those  chambers — must  remain  unnamed, 
unseen  and  unexplored." 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Quintil,  have  you  banished  him  from  his  father,  if 
such  indeed  he  is  ?  That  is  so  dreadful !"  And  I  grasped  the 
hand  that  held  mine,  in  an  agony  of  pity.  "  You  have  assumed 
a  terrible  office  !"  I  murmured  low,  but  the  whisper  did  not 

escape  his  ear. 

» 

He  made  no  answer  at  first,  but  dropping  my  hand,  commenced 
walking  the  room  in  almost  breathless  agitation.  I  had  rarely 
seen  him  so  excited' — so  angry,  perhaps. 

"  You  judge  me  too  harshly,  Lilian,"  he  said ;  "  yet  I  confess,  the 
case  does  seem  a  hard  one ;  but  that  is  your  fault — you  jump  too 
hastily  to  conclusions.  Ihere  is  deep-rooted  prejudice  and  hatred, 
almost  animosity,  to  be  contended  with  in  that  quarter.  Jasper 
cannot  appear  before  him;  he  would  destroy  him,  probably;  we 
have  no  reason  to  think  otherwise." 

"  He  would  not  harnj  me  I  know,  even  if  he  is  mad,"  I  re- 
joined. "  I  am  not  afraid  of  madmen,  or  of  anything  that  suffers. 
Our  old  gardener  went  mad  at  Taunton  Tower,  and  I  was  the 
only  person  that  he  would  take  food  from  afterward  until  he 
died  !» 

"  Child,  child,  there  is  no  question  of  madness  here.  Would — 
oh,  would  to  God — there  ever  could  have  been.  He  that  you 
refer  to  is  not  mad.  only  very  peculiar  and — and — unfortunate 
(let  the  word  pass) ;  no  one  must  approach  him  unbidden."  And 
again  he  walked  the  room  for  a  few  minutes  in  silent  agitation. 
"  Lilian,"  he  said,  pausing  suddenly  in  his  pace  and  looking  at 
me  fixedly,  "you  must  make  an  end  of  this;  you  must  drive  this 
matter  from  your  mind;  in  justice,  in  honor,  you  must  do  this. 
Try  and  forget  that  tnere  is  anything  more  in  this  habitation,  than 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  131 

you  saw  during  the  first  year  of  your  stay.  You  were  happy 
here  then." 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  Jasper  was  here,  and  time  passed  differently. 
But  now  everything  is  changed,  and  dark  and  dull.  I  have  been 
the  cause  of  unhappiness  to  all  of  you — to  him,  to  you,  to  my 
grandmother,  to  myself — and  I  am  sorry  that  I  ever  came  among 
you  only  to  trouble  and  annoy.  And  now  this  last  most  fervent 
hope  is  taken  away  from  me.  I  had  thought  to  go  to  him,  to 
comfort  him,  to  aid  in  caring  for  him  in  every  way ;  for  already  I 
feel  that  he  is  near  to  me,  and  I  stand  prepared  to  love  him." 

"  You  are  unreasonable  now,  as  are  all  passionate  people ;  you 
will  think  better  of  this  hereafter ;  yet  if  your  inclination  leads  you 
to  leave  Bouverie  regretting,  as  you  do,  your  advent  here,  I  think 
your  grandmother  will  not  oppose  it;  and  I  deem  it  my  duty  to 
tell  you,  under  these  circumstances,  that  a  very  favorable  oppor- 
tunity for  casting  your  lot  elsewhere  is  now  afforded  you.  When 
you  are  calmer  I  will  explain  this  to  you,  and  leave  the  matter  to 
your  own  dispassionate  decision.  In  the  meantime,  rest  assured 
that  no  event  of  the  last  ten  years  has  given  us  half  so  much 
pleasure  as  your  coming  to  Bouverie.  Yet  I  feel  that  it  must  be 
a  prison  to  energies  like  yours,  and  cannot  wonder  that  you  desire 
to  leave  its  gloom  and  monotony  behind  you." 

So  speaking  in  calm,  cold  accents,  he  passed  from  the  apartment, 
leaving  me  greatly  disconcerted. 

Two  hours  later  I  was  summoned  to  his  study  by  Bianca,  who 
found  me  sitting  just  where  he  had  left  me,  with  the  traces  of 
tears  on  my  face,  which  moved  her  to  compassionate  remark. 
"  What  has  gone  wrong  with  you,  Miss  Lilian  ?"  she  asked  ; 
"  you  have  not  seemed  yourself  lately,  at  all.  I  am  afraid  yon 
take  on  too  much  about  Mister  Jasper." 


132  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE. 

"  Give  me  some  cool  water,  Bianca,  and  tell  Dr.  Quintil  I  will 
be  with  him  in  a  few  minutes;  and  don't  ask  me  any  questions,  if 
you  love  me." 

The  good  creature  fulfilled  all  my  mandates;  and  with  as  serene 
a  countenance  as  I  could  command,  I  followed  her  to  Dr  Quintil's 
presence. 

"  Sit  down,  Lilian,"  he  said  when,  looking  up  from  his  book, 
he  saw  that  I  stood  before  him,  for  I  had  entered  noiselessly; 
"  I  was  not  aware  of  your  presence  ;  sit  down  and  read  this 
letter." 

And  he  gave  me  one  that  he  drew  from  his  pocketbook,  stamped 
with  a  foreign  postmark.  My  amazement  was  at  its  height  when 
I  found  that  it  was  from  Colonel  De  Courcy,  the  present  possessor 
of  Taunton  Tower,  and  that  it  contained  a  conditional  offer  for 
me,  of  home,  education  and  suitable  provision  in  after-life. 
What  miracle  had  wrought  this  change,  and  melted  this  heart  of 
ice,  to  flow  in  streams  of  genial  fellowship  and  humanity  ? 

I  could  only  conjecture  what  had  effected  this  alteration  in  his 
views,  when  I  read,  toward  the  conclusion  of  the  letter,  that  he 
had,  within  the  year,  adopted  the  orphan  children  of  his  sister, 
who  had  been  to  him  once  as  a  child  herself,  although  her  ill- 
starred  marriage  had  long  separated  their  fortunes. 

All  was  forgiven  now;  she  and  her  husband  were  both  dead, 
and  the  son  and  daughter  for  whom  she  entreated  protection 
on  her  dying  bed,  were  not  rejected.  He  determined  to  keep 
them  with  him,  and  educate  them  at  home  by  means  of  masters; 
and  that  companionship  might  not  be  wanting  to  his  niece,  he 
invited  me  to  come  and  share  all  her  advantages  equally  and 
impartially. 

There  was  something  said  in  the  letter,  about  "  concentrating 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  188 

fortunes,  should  inclination  so  direct,"  to  which  I  paid  but  little 
attention  at  the  time,  though  later  its  significance  did  not  escape 
me.  It  was  evidently  his  plan  (I  found  on  re-reading  this  letter 
months  afterward),  to  unite  me  in  marriage  with  his  nephew, 
should  we  so  incline  on  acquaintance,  and  thus  secure  the  pros- 
perity of  all  connected  with  him. 

He  mentioned  that  Lady  Torrington  had  gone  abroad  in  feeble 
health,  and  that  in  case  of  her  death,  her  portion  of  the  estate 
would  revert  to  me,  the  only  survivor,  save  herself,  of  her  mother's 
family.  This,  he  remarked,  would  make  me  independent,  had  he 
not  determined  to  effect  a  settlement  upon  me  in  case  I  complied 
with  his  request;  which  he  seemed  to  consider  a  mere  matter  of 
course  that  I  would  do  joyfully.  He  invited  Dr.  Quintil  to  be 
his  guest  while  in  Scotland,  should  it  suit  his  convenience  to  cross 
the  seas  with  me;  advising  him,  otherwise,  to  consign  me  and  my 
effects  to  the  care  of  the  British  consul  in  New  York,  a  personal 
friend  of  his,  who  would  take  pleasure  in  sending  me  safely  over. 
To  my  grandmother  he  did  not  even  allude,  the  letter  being 
addressed  wholly  to  Dr.  Quintil,  with  the  request  that  it  might  be 
communicated  to  me,  and  answered  speedily. 

"  Has  my  grandmother  seen  this  letter,  Dr.  Quintil  ?"  I  asked 
as  I  handed  it  back  to  him  with  non-chalauce— real,  not  affected. 

"  Not  yet.  I  deemed  it  my  duty  to  submit  it  first  to  you,  and 
learn  your  wishes.  The  matter  might  then  be  broken  gradually 
to  her." 

"  Do  you  object  to  answering  it  before  she  sees  it  ?w  I  asked. 

"  It  depends,.  Lilian — it  depends,"  he  replied,  greatly  agitated, 
I  could  see  from  the  pallor  of  his  lips,  "  on  what  that  reply  is  to 
be.  It  would  certainly  be  unbecoming  in  me — should  you  con- 
clude, to  avail  yourself  of  this  invitation — to — to  answer  the  lettiei 


134  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVEKIE. 

without  consulting  her  who  stands  to  you  now  in  the  attitude  of— • 
mother  1" 

I  smiled.  "  You  know  me  but  little,  Dr.  Quintil,  if  you  think  I 
could  for  one  moment  meditate  any  answer  but  one." 

"And  that,  Lilian  ?"  He  had  hold  of  my  hand,  now  he  under- 
stood me,  and  the  tears  stood  in  his  great  grey  eyes. 

"  Is — oh  I  you  know,  dearest — dearest  friend ;"  and  I  hugged 
his  ungraceful  arm  in  both  of  mine,  "  that,  until  you  drive  me 
from  you,  I  will  never  leave  you  while  life  is  mine  !  How  could 
you  dream  for  a  moment  of  any  other  decision  ?"  and  I  kissed  his 
large  brown  hand. 

We  wept  together.  It  did  us  good  to  indulge  the  weakness  of 
the  moment,  occasioned,  as  it  was,  by  sentiments  of  no  ordinary 
strength.  Renewed  tenderness  and  esteem  spra.ng  from  this  un- 
equivocal rejection  on  my  part  of  Colonel  de  Courcy's  liberal  offer ; 
and  it  was  with  something  of  triumph  that  we  went  to  my  grand- 
mother's room,  and  laid  before  her  both  the  invitation  and  its 
courteous  but  decided  rejection. 

I  thought  there  was  much  meaning  in  the  silent  pressure  of  her 
hand,  and  the  husky  voice  in  which  she  said,  with  an  effort  at  dis- 
interestedness : 

"  Lilian,  had  you  not  better  think  this  matter  over  ?  You  are 
rejecting  opportunities  I  can  never  give  you  ;  and  I  feel  that  my 
secret  of  life  and  death  will  be  as  safe  with  you  in  Taunton  Tower 
as  in  Bouverie.  Perhaps  you  had  better  not  determine  rashly, 
Lilian." 

"  Grandmother,  I  believe  you  are  tired  of  me,  and  want  me 
to  go." 

"  Child — child,  do  not  attempt  to  weigh  my  motives  thus." 

"  But  I  do  not  care,  dear  grandmother — I  will  not  go.     I  will 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVERIE.  136 

oe  your  old  man  of  the  sea,  and  stay  and  plague  you  always.  For 
do  you  think,  oh,  do  you  think  that  any  other  place  than  Bouverie 
would  ever  seem  like  home  to  me  now  ?  And  as  to  Colonel  do 
Courcy,"  I  said,  indignantly,  "  I  ignore  him  forever.  He  is  ,no 
gentleman — no  man  of  feeling  even,  to  dare — to  dare  to  leave 
your  name  unspoken,  grandmother,  in  writing  about  your  child  !" 

"  I  have  never  deserved  his  disdain,"  she  said,  in  cold  and  sub- 
dued accents  ;  "but  I  have  taken  no  pains  to  explain  to  those 
English  people  my  true  position,  and  they  may  think  what  they 
please  of  me.  At  home  I  am  known  and  respected,  I  believe — 
this  suffices  me." 

My  arms  were  around  her  neck — silently  she  pressed  me  to  her 
heart ;  no  further  words  were  spoken.  And,  from  this  slight  cir- 
cumstance, my  life  seemed  to  take  a  new  impetus  ;  and  my  resolu- 
tions then  formed,  to  abide  by  the  wishes  and  counsel  of  those 
that  loved  me,  uncomprehended  as  their  motives  might  be,  sus- 
tained me  through  another  eighteen  months  of  probation,  of  vain 
conjecture,  and  unexplained  mystery. 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOTJVERIE. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


OUR  letters  from  Jasper  were  frequent,  and  very  cheering. 
His  health  was  improving  under  the  peculiar  treatment  to  which 
he  was  subjected  by  the  learned  physician  in  whose  family  he 
resided,  and  he  was  pursuing  his  art  with  interest  and  advantage. 
Though  certainly  not  recognized  as  a  sphere  for  painters,  he  had 
the  good  fortune  to  stumble  across  a  gifted  artist  in  Leyden, 
from  whom  he  received  valuable  instruction.  The  fine  library  of 
the  institution  was  also  at  his  command,  through  the  interest  of 
his  friend,  Dr.  Steinforth,  and  he  was  reading  with  avidity,  such 
works  as  he  had  never  been  able  to  command  before. 

The  life  he  was  leading  was  evidently  pleasant  to  Jasper,  and 
at  the  expiration  of  one  year's  absence  he  demanded  another, 
wherein  to  complete  the  experiments  Dr.  Steinforth  was  making 
on  his  limb,  and  his  own  studies,  both  in  art  and  science. 

It  was  Dr.  Quintil's  wish  that  Jasper  should  choose  the  career 
of  letters,  for  which  he  thought  the  delicacy  and  fire  of  his  in- 
tellect peculiarly  befitted  him.  His  infirmity  had  shut  him  out 
from  a  regular  collegiate  course,  as  it  must  have  continued  to  do 
from  either  of  the  leading  professions  ;  but  his  mind  was  richly 
stored  with  desultory  lore,  and  it  is  from  materials  like  these 
the  greatest  writers  have  wrought  their  fine  gold  of  fancy,  or 
of  fact. 

It  is  a  dangerous  experiment  to  tamper  thus  with  a  weak  in* 
tellect.  Tarpeia  was  overwhelmed,  we  are  told,  by  the  weight  of 
ornaments  the  Roman  soldiery  threw  on  her  as  the  price  of  her 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          137 

treachery — and  so  the  feeble  fancy  reels  and  staggers  under  the 
accumulation  of  poetry  or  fiction,  and  dies  in  its  faint  efforts  to 
grasp  the  treasures  with  which  its  allegiance  to  the  common- 
place has  been  beguiled.  But  place  a  child  of  active  brain,  and 
quick  imagination  and  judgment  in  a  miscellaneous  library 
where  books,  good  and  bad,  serious  and  satirical,  ponderous  and 
frivolous  abound  in  almost  equal  proportions,  and  ten  to  one  that 
child  will  emerge  from  its  unrestrained  feast  of  intellect, 
strengthened,  uplifted,  educated,  almost  I 

The  thinking  mind  acts  as  an  alembic  on  the  indiscriminate 
materials  it  receives,  and  separates  the  dross  from  the  purer 
essence — to  reject  the  one  and  assimilate  the  other.  Almost  all 
the  fine  talkers  and  orators  I  have  known  have  been  formed  in 
this  way,  and  many  of  the  poets  of  the  world  owe  their  fertility 
at  least,  to  the  wondrous  store  of  desultory  lore  their  eager 
minds  have  received  through  miscellaneous  reading. 

But  as  I  have  said,  this  is  a  dangerous  experiment  for  the 
weak  and  uncertain  intelligence,  so  apt  to  dwarf  under  intel- 
lectual  burins. 

Better  for  such  the  old  gymnastic  training  of  memory  and  com- 
pelled attention — and  homoeopathic  doses  of  information  regularly 
administered. 

Oh,  Liudley  Murray  !  Has  any  thinking  creature  who  has 
studied  thy  pages  a  doubt  any  longer  that  the  bed  of  Procrustes 
did  indeed  exist  ?  Yet,  some  I  believe,  have  been  stretched 
advantageously  to  themselves  on  that  rack  of  thine.  But,  woe  ! 
for  those  whose  feet  projected  beyond  thy  limits — and  who  have 
gone  hobbling  ever  since  in  consequence  of  amputation  then 
endured  ! 

Dr.  Quintil  did  not  approve  of  Jasper's  wish  to  make  his  art 


138  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEBIE. 

the  pivot  of  his  existence.  He  had  old-fashioned  notions  on  this 
subject — and  thought  that  when  a  man  was  painting  he  was 
amusing  himself,  as  women  do  with  embroidery.  He  could  not 
look  upon  it  as  earnest  work. 

"  A  man  should  choose  an  occupation  that  will  accompany  him 
through  life,"  he  said.  "  Artists  have  nearly  all  unattainable 
ideals  in  their  own  minds.  By  the  time  they  arrive  at  middle-age 
they  become  convinced  of  this  and  grow  dissatisfied  with  themselves 
and  with  their  calling.  The  rest  of  life  to  such  a  man  is  a  blank. 
This  is  the  case  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten — the  tenth  man  succeeds 
and  carries  out  his  views,  merely  because  he  has  more  energy, 
and  less  genius  than  the  others,  and  a  limited  ideal." 

I  had  long  since  thrown  off,  or  at  least  I  so  persuaded  myself, 
that  hallucination  that  Bishop  Clare's  strangely  ill-judged  com- 
munication had  wakened  in  my  brain,  and  with  renewed  certainty 
and  submission  settled  patiently  down  again  into  the  belief  that 
Jasper  was  my  uncle. 

There  was  not  a  word  of  reference  to  the  past  in  any  letter  of 
his,  although  overflowing  with  affection  and  tende^  interest  for 
me.  It  was  evident  to  me  now,  that  Bishop  Clare  had  misun- 
derstood his  sentiments  for  me,  and  acted  on  vague  suspicious — 
and  on  reading  Jasper's  letter  again  I  saw  that  it  was  possible 
those  revelations  he  spoke  of  might  have  pointed  to  the  discovery 
I  had  since  made,  and  the  propriety  of  communicating  to  me  the 
existence  of  our  mysterious  inmate. 

So,  very  dearly  as  I  still  loved  Jasper,  I  was  no  longer  moved 
by  that  excessive  and  morbid  emotion  as  I  felt  it  now  to  have 
been,  that  had  for  a  time  engrossed  my  being  ;  I  could  even 
bear  to  hear  with  moderate  composure  those  cruel  jests  that  Dr. 
Quintil  threw  out  from  time  to  time,  about  the  probability  of  his 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOTJVERIE.  139 

becoming  attached  to  Miss  Steinforth,  whose  daguerreotype  (the 
first  we  had  ever  seen)  Jasper  sent  to  us  in  a  package  with  other 
matters. 

The  art  was  very  imperfect  then,  but  the  shadow  of  a  sweet 
young  face  was  traced  on  the  dusky  metallic  mirror  before  us 
with  which  the  reflection  of  my  own  contrasted  unfavorably,  it 
seemed  to  me.  Even  Dutch,  I  thought,  might  fall  sweetly  from 
those  mild  and  smiling  lips  !  But  how  could  my  Jasper  love  any 
one  so  well  as  he  had  loved  me  ?  Uncle,  brother,  friend — it 
mattered  little  what — he  was,  I  felt,  the  load-star  of  my  life  ! 

Yet  a  few  months  later,  a  very  stringent  test  was  put  to  my 
affections,  and  for  a  time  the  conflict  was  sharp  and  poignant,  and 
the  victory  uncertain. 

Before  I  was  seventeen  years  old,  Dr.  Quintil  and  my  grand- 
mother determined  that  I  should  go  forth  from  the  seclusion  of 
Bouverie  and  travel  under  his  care  through  that  wide  and 
beautiful  land,  that  was  still  a  sealed  book  to  me.  We  left  home 
in  the  beginning  of  June,  and  were  gone  two  months,  during 
which  time  we  ranged  from  Maryland  to  Canada,  and  saw  all 
that  was  worthy  of  notice,  whether  in  the  shape  of  city  or  natural 
scenery. 

I  yet  recall  that  journey  with  ever  fresh  sensations  of  deMght, 
for  to  my  nature  and  character  it  was  strengthening  and  life- 
giving  beyond  anything  that  I  had  yet  experienced.  I  was  not  a 
little  gratified  to  find  that  many  of  the  attentions  extended  to  us 
were  on  my  grandmother's  account.  In  Washington,  especially, 
that  city  of  "  effaced  footsteps,"  where  Mr.  Bouverie  had  been 
at  one  time  employed  in  some  scientific  capacity  by  government — • 
and  where  he  had  exercised  a  distinguished  hospitality — her 
claims  were  not  forgotten. 


140          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

I  could  not  but  observe,  that  my  grandfather  was  rarely 
referred  to,  aud  always  with  constraint  and  evident  reserve.  On 
one  of  these  occasions  the  speaker,  a  distinguished  gentleman  of 
our  diplomatic  corps  touched  on  a  chord  with  regard  to  him,  that 
vibrated  keenly  in  Dr.  Quintil's  bosom,  and  even  in  mine. 

"  Mrs.  Bouverie  sees  no  society,  I  am  told,  since  her  husband's 
death,  either  at  home  or ' abroad.  Have  I  been  correctly 
informed  ?"  he  inquired  of  my  companion. 

"  You  have,"  was  the  brief  reply. 

"  Would  she  not,  in  favor  of  an  old  friend  like  me,  break 
through  her  monastic  resolution  ?  I  shall  be  in  her  immediate 
neighborhood  before  long,  and  it  would  gratify  me  much  to  see 
her." 

"  She  cannot  receive  you,  Mr. ,"  was  the  reply.     "  I  am 

sorry,  but  such  is  her  resolution.  Her  neighbors  vainly  sought  to 
shake  it  for  some  time — and  at  last  gave  up  the  task  as  hope- 
less. With  the  exception  of  Bishop  Clare,  her  confessor,  her 
threshold  is  never  traversed  by  any  foot  save  that  of  an 
inmate." 

"  And  these  inmates  ?"  Dr.  Quintilian. 

"  Consist  of  three — her  children  and  myself." 

'*There  are  reports  abroad,  my  dear  doctor,"  resumed  Mr. 

,  with  an  earnest  yet  grieved  expression,  "which  render  it  a 

matter  of  self-protection  almost  to  Mrs.  Bouverie  that  she  should, 
however  painful  to  herself,  receive  the  occasional  visits  of  disin- 
terested friends.  To  these  reports  I  have  attached  no  attention, 
having  known  her  well ;  but  it  would  gratify  me  to  be  able  to 
confute  them  from  personal  observation." 

"  And  these  reports  ?"  asked  Dr.  Quintil,  in  a  husky  voice — 
and  with  a  forehead  gemmed  with  cold  dew.  "  Favor  me  with 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKIE.  14:1 

these,  if  you  please  !  Nay  1  I  will  take  no  denial — speak  out 
frankly,  my  friend  ;  I  insist  upon  it !  These  reports  !" 

"  Are  to  the  effect,  that  she  is  insane,"  added  Mr. ,  in 

hesitating  words — and  evidently  pained  to  be  the  medium  of  such 
unfounded  rumors. 

Dr.  Quintil  smiled  in  the  fullness  of  his  relief — and  the  blood 
rushed  back  to  his  face. 

"  Speak,  Lilian  !"  he  said,  turning  to  me.  "  Is  your  grand- 
mother insane  in  being  only  too  rational,  or  whither  tends  her 
mania  ?" 

"  Indeed,  Mr. ,"  I  answered,  "  Of  all  persons  I  have  ever 

known  she  is,  I  think,  the  most  entirely  self-poised  and  philo- 
sophic. Her  very  melancholy  has  assumed  a  systematic  cheer- 
fulness which  rarely  abandons  her — I  would  I  were  half  so 
rational !" 

"  I  am  relieved,"  said  Mr. ,  "  and  can  imagine  how  a  wo- 
man of  feeling  having  received  such  a  blow,  should  shrink  after- 
ward from,  contact  with  the  world.  Hers  was  truly  a  fiery 
trial  V 

"  Come,  Lilian,"  said  Doctor  Quintil,  "  or  we  shall  be  too  late 
to  fulfill  our  engagement,"  and  he  literally  hurried  me  away, 

cutting  short  the  conversation  with  Mr. ,  with  a  few  hasty, 

half-muttered  apologies. 

I  remarked  afterward,  that  when  this  gentleman  called  on  us 
again,  he  did  not  invite  me  to  accompany  him  to  the  parlor  of 
the  hotel,  but  advised  me  to  write  home  in  his  absence.  Here 
also  was  food  for  conjecture  ! 

It  was  at  Niagara  we  met  with  Everard  Howe.  Standing  by 
that  mighty  cataract,  that  seems  the  fittest  emblem  earth  presents 
of  fate  itself,  and  absorbed  by  its  awful  presence,  I  dropped  from 


142  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

my  hand  the  flowers  and  handkerchief  it  held,  and  saw  them 
borue  away  on  the  rapid  water.  But  not  before  a  young  man, 
who  was  poising  his  slender,  yet  well-knit  figure  on  a  pinnacle  of 
rock,  apparently  in  rather  a  jeopardous  attitude,  had  made  an  in- 
effectual effort  to  recover  them  with  the  slight  cane  he  carried — 
and  at  the  same  time  hazarded  a  loss  of  balance  that  must  have 
been  fatal. 

Touched  by  the  impulsive  courtesy  of  the  act,  Doctor  Quintil 
approached  him  a  few  minutes  later,  and  addressed  him  frankly. 

"  Had  you  fallen  into  the  water  while  trying  to  recover  that 
lace-trimmed  rag  and  those  frail  blossoms,  we  could  never  have 
forgiven  ourselves — your  death  would  have  lain  at  our  door." 
The  person  so  addressed,  who  had  by  this  time  returned  to  the 
greater  security  of  the  bank — removed  his  hat  with  a  frank  smile 
and  a  graceful  bow — revealing  as  he  did  so  a  head  of  glossy 
chestnut  hair,  and  a  set  of  dazzling  teeth. 

"  I  am  sure  I  have  no  wish  to  make  involuntary  murderers  of 
you,"  he  answered,  "  but  I  was  really  in  no  danger.  I  am  very 
sure-footed,  and  have  stood  too  often  among  the  shrouds  to  feel 
much  apprehension  on  terra  firma." 

"  When  a  man  falls  into  the  ocean  there  are  reasonable  hopes 
that  he  may  be  rescued,"  resumed  Dr.  Quintil,  shaking  his  head 
gravely  ;  "  but  he  who  is  once  submerged  in  this  tide,  has  no 
longer  any  hold  on  human  life  !" 

"  The  thought  is  very  solemn,  but  very  exciting,  too,"  said  the 
young  man,  archly.  "  A  man  might  leave  an  enduring  fame  be- 
hind him  who  could  breast  these  rapids  I  It  is  well  worth  a 
venture." 

Dr.  Quintil,  deceived  by  the  earnestness  he  managed  to  throw 
into  the  last  observation,  began  gravely  to  expostulate  and  reason 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  143 

on  the  matter  ;  but  the  flash  of  merriment  that  darted  from  my 
eyes  met  those  of  the  stranger,  and  we  laughed  -outright  at  the 
same  moment. 

Thus  began  a  pleasant  acquaintance  that  gradually  ripened 
into  a  graver  intimacy,  and  finally  occasioned  the  painful  struggle 
of  feeling  I  have  elsewhere  referred  to. 

I  have  known  few  persons  in  my  whole  life  so  winning  as 
Everard  Howe  at  twenty-five  !  Not  strictly  handsome,  he  had 
so  distinguished  a  bearing,  and  his  expression  was  so  ingenuous 
and  intelligent,  that  the  observer  saw  nothing  to  regret  in  the 
absence  of  mere  regularity  of  feature.  He  might  have  owed 
something  of  the  frankness  of  his  manner  to  his  profession,  which 
seems  singularly  to  mold  most  of  its  followers  into  more  than 
drawing-room  courtesy  and  gallantry  of  demeanor  ;  but  I  must 
think  a  good  and  loyal  nature  lies  ever  at  the  bottom  of  all 
thorough  good  breeding — such  as  his  certainly  was. 

I  had  been  accustomed  to  a  higher  reach  of  intellect  and  deeper 
culture  than  he  possessed  ;  but  I  had  met  no  person  before,  who 
had  amused  and  entertained  me  half  so  much,  and  when  he  had 
travelled  with  us  some  weeks  (for  he  left  us  no  more  from  the 
time  of  our  first  meeting,  and  seemed  to  attach  himself  greatly  to 
our  society)  I  began  to  feel  that  he  was  quite  an  indispensable 
part  of  our  enjoyment. 

His  interest  in  me  seemed  to  spring  to  sudden  life  (although 
somewhat  evidenced  from  the  first)  after  he  had  heard  my  name. 
It  was  a  familiar  one  to  him,  he  said — he  had  friends  who  bore  it; 
and  I  found  later,  that  he  had  been  in  the  part  of  Scotland  from 
which  I  came — and  had  even  seen  Taunton  Tower — and  used  an 
oar  on  the  romantic  lochs  with  which  it  was  surrounded. 

He  was  spending  an  idle  summer    he  stated,  in  the  United 


144  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

States,  had  brought  letters,  but  delivered  none.  Among  the 
rest,  I  heard  afterward,  one  to  Dr.  Quintil  himself,  which 
accounted  for  the  perfect  security  my  guardian  had  manifested  in 
seeing  me  in  the  society  of  this  stranger.  I  was  too  young  and 
inexperienced  to  feel  any  surprise  at  this  at  the  tune  ;  but  when  I 
learned  more  of  the  world,  I  saw  why  I  had  been  permitted  to 
treat  him  rather  as  an  established  friend  than  a  new  acquaintance, 
and  even  encouraged  to  enjoy  his  society. 

At  the  end  of  six  weeks,  when  the  time  for  separation  arrived, 
I  felt  that  a  very  close  tie  had  been  woven  between  us,  and  that 
it  was  hard  to  say  farewell  forever  to  this  mere  summer 
acquaintance.  In  truth,  that  brief  but  constant  companionship 
had  done  more  to  unfold  our  true  natures  to  each  other,  than 
years  of  mere  routine  and  occasional  visiting  could  have  done. 
Yet  I  was  scarcely  prepared  for  the  avowal  he  made  to  me  on  the 
evening  before  we  parted. 

He  had  come,  he  said,  to  the  United  States  on  purpose  to  see 
me,  and  was  on  his  route  to  Bouverie,  when  we  met  at  Niagara, 
having  just  crossed  from  Quebec,  to  which  city  he  had  sailed  in  a 
government  vessel.  He  had  kept  his  identity  secret  from  me 
until  then,  fearing  that  my  prejudice,  frankly  avowed  from  the 
first  against  Colonel  de  Courcy  might  extend  to  him,  his  nephew, 
and  with  Dr.  Quintil's  consent  this  was  done.  Oh  1  that  dear 
hypocrite.  Everything  was  plain  now  ;  but  he  should  suffer  for 
this  by  and  by. 

And  now  he  laid  his  hopes  of  happiness  at  my  feet,  with  what 
fortune  and  prospects  earth  contained  for  him.  All  this  was  very 
unexpected — very  gratifying,  too,  reader,  I  am  ashamed  to 
confess — for  I  could  only  partly  return  his  affection,  and  yet,  it 
was  too  precious  to  me  to  cast  aside  forever. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          14:5 

So  I  compromised  the  matter  for  the  time.  I  would  write  to 
him  my  final  decision  after  I  had  seen  my  grandmother.  He 
should  come  back  a  year  later  should  she  favor  his  suit,  and  we 
would  spend  another  summer  together,  in  travelling  through  the 
romantic  region  of  the  lakes  ;  and  after  that,  if  we  felt  that  our 
inclinations  increased  in  strength,  I  would  marry  him  1 

He  smiled  at  the  strange  indefinite  arrangement,  so  little  suited 
to  his  views. 

"  I  will  go  with  you  to  Bouverie,"  he  said,  "  and  learn  my 
fate  at  once.  I  should  be  ill  at  ease  under  such  probation." 

I  turned  pale  at  the  very  thought.  "  This  cannot  be,"  I  said. 
"  No  one  goes  to  Bouverie — no  stranger  is  admitted  there  ;  my 
grandmother  is  a  recluse  ;  I  thought  Dr.  Quintil  might  have  told 
you  this." 

"  I  have  never  heard  it  spoken  of  before,"  he  answered  gravely; 
"  but  of  course  I  must  respect  this  peculiarity,  and  meet  you  else- 
where. My  ship  sails  in  September  ;  let  it  be  before  then  !" 

"No,"  I  said  ;  "I  want  to  know  my  feelings  better  before  I 
make  you  a  single  promise.  I  heard  you  say  that  you  were 
coming  to  Montreal  next  summer — that  your  cruise  would  be  over 
by  that  tune.  I  will  meet  ,you  at  Niagara  in  July — if,  if  my 
feelings  impel  me  to  do  so — and  if  you  write  to  me  that  you  will 
be  there." 

"  Lilian  1  Miss  de  Courcy  !  This  is  very  hard." 

"  Mr.  Howe,  you  do  not  sufficiently  consider  my  extreme  youth, 
and  the  abruptness  of  this  proceeding  !" 

"  I  feel  that  I  have  been  precipitate,"  he  said  ;  "it  would  have 
been  wiser  to  have  deferred  this  avowal  of  my  feelings — a  better 
mode,  I  know,  of  enlisting  yours,  according  to  the  received  no- 
tions of  men  of  the  world."  He  spoke  with  some  asperity. 


146  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

"  Not  so,"  I  rejoined.  "  Mine  is  not  a  nature  to  undervalue 
frankness  and  impulse,  or  to  be  won  by  procrastination  or 
finesse  !  I  abhor  these  things — I  admire  your  straightforward 
and  manly  course  ;  but  I  cannot  respond  to  you  now  as  fully  as 
I  could  wish.  I  am  sure  you  would  no.t  respect  me,"  I  added, 
"  if  I  were  to  deceive  you  in  so  important  a  matter.  I  must  love 
the  man  I  marry  with  all  my  heart,  or  I  shall  feel  that  I  am  a 
hypocrite  indeed  !  I  must  prove  myself  first  1" 

And  with  this  vague  understanding  he  was  fain  to  be  satisfied 
for  the  time. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  14:7 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

HAD  I  known  more  of  the  customs  of  the  world,  or  even  re- 
flected abstractly  on  the  rights  of  others,  I  should  have  smiled  at 
the  absurdity  of  the  compact  I  sought  to  make  with  Everard  Howe. 
My  mind  had  been  so  thoroughly  imbued,  by  means  of  books,  and 
the  few  gentlemen  I  had  seen,  with  notions  of  high-bred  courtesy 
and  chivalry,  as  being  the  due  only  of  woman  from  man,  that  I 
did  not  properly  estimate  the  nature  of  the  sacrifice  I  demanded. 

I  did  not  consider  myself  engaged  to  Everard  Howe,  by  any 
means  ;  and  yet  I  frankly  confess  I  did  consider  that  he  was  en- 
gaged to  me  !  Nor  until  it  was  pointed  out  to  me,  did  the  in-  I 
justice,  the  inequality  of  our  position,  strike  me.  Weeks  elapsed 
before  time  or  opportunity  occurred  to  make  the  communication 
I  had  intended  for  her  from  the  first,  to  my  grandmother.  New 
and  engrossing  occupations  filled  my  existence  on  my  return  to 
Bouverie,  that  shut  out  all  such  considerations,  and  enlarged  my 
sphere  of  action  and  feeling  for  a  time  up  to  the  greatest  capacity 
of  my  nature. 

From  the  first  moment  that  my  eyes  fell  upon  her  face,  I  per- 
ceived the  inroads  of  deep  and  unusual  suffering  in  my  grand- 
mother's expressive  and  flexible  physiognomy,  so  readily  altered 
by  muscular  depression  as  to  scarcely  present  the  same  contour 
even  in  joy  and  grief. 

"  Have  you  been  sick,  dear  grandmother  ?"  I  asked  ;  "  or  have 
you  fretted  over  our  absence  ?  I  find  you  altered  for  the 
worse  ?" 


148  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERLE. 

"  Neither,  Lilian — my  health  is  as  usual ;  and  I  have  gone 
forth  with  you,  a-s  if  in  presence,  in  all  your  enjoyment  so  vividly 
set  forth  in  your  letters." 

"What  then?"  I  faltered,  before  I  remembered  how  she 
shrank  from  questions  of  all  sorts  almost  with  nervous  repugnance. 
She  waived  a  reply,  by  changing  the  theme  to  my  own  improved 
appearance,  though  sunburnt  cheeks.  But  Dr.  Quintilian,  fixing 
his  calm  eyes  on  her  face,  seemed  to  read  her  secret  in  a  moment. 

"He  is  ill,"  I  heard  him  murmur,  at  a  moment  when  he 
supposed  my  attention  diverted.  "  You  have  been  watching  1 
Why  did  you  not  write  and  recall  me  ?" 

The  lips  moved,  but  I  did  not  hear  her  answer.  In  another 
moment,  as  if  by  tacit  consent,  they  left  the  room  together,  and 
it  was  long  before  they  returned.  The  evening  meal  united  us  :  it 
\  was  eaten  in  silence — travel  having  sharpened  the  appetite  of  two 
of  the  party  to  the  exclusion  of  conversation  probably.  But,  I 
noticed  that  my  grandmother  swallowed  only  a  cup  of  tea,  and 
her  pallor  and  depression  were  even  more  evident  than  at  first. 

We  retired  early — on  my  part,  not  more  to  recover  from  the 
fatigue  of  travel,  than  to  break  up  the  gloomy  restraint  that 
rested  over  us  all.  To  the  very  last  moment,  impelled  by  my 
anxiety  for  her,  I  hovered  around  my  grandmother,  trying  to 
summon  courage  to  ask  her  what  ailed  her,  and  how  I  could 
serve  her  ;  but  I  dared  not  venture  1  I  dreaded  that  "  stone 
in  the  flower-bed,"  that  I  had  stumbled  over  so  often  when  I  first 
came  to  Bouverie.  Inquiry  was  the  one  thing  she  could  not  en- 
dure, as  I  have  elsewhere  said.  Beneath  the  voice  of  the  cate- 
chist,  her  nature  closed  up  in  a  moment,  as  the  mimosa  does  at 
the  touch  of  the  finger. 

What  she  wished  to  communicate  she  made  known  frankly, 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OP   BOTTVEBIE.  149 

freely.  What  remained  was  for  no  human  ear  01  eye,  and  her 
heart  shut  over  its  reserved  contents  like  the  lid  of  a  cistern. 
To  me,  in  turn,  to  be  repelled,  was  the  one  unendurable,  inexpiable 
offence  ;  so  that  we  compromised  very  well  on  these  points,  and 
went  ^ach  her  way  in  quietness. 

I  slept  that  night  the  sound,  dreamless  sleep  of  strength  over- 
come by  fatigue.  Hours  of  such  slumber  must  have  passed, 
before  I  heard  my  grandmother's  voice  calling  me  repeatedly, 
and  at  last  aroused  myself  from  half-consciousness,  to  understand 
and  obey  her  summons. 

"  Lilian,  Lilian  ! — I  need  you  !"  she  said,  in  low,  sorrowful 
accents — at  least  these  were  the  first  words  I  caught  distinctly,  as 
I  opened  my  eyes  and  looked  straight  into  her  face.  The  earliest 
crimson  rays  of  morning  streamed  through  the  open  blind,  thrown 
back  by  her  hand,  and  she  stood  pale  and  exhausted  before  me. 

"  Lilian,  the  time  has  come  to  prove  you.  Can  you  be  patient, 
watchful,  and  discreet  ?  Rouse  up,  my  child,  to  the  call  of  a 
great  duty  !" 

I  sat  up  in  my  bed,  and  listened  earnestly  to  her  words, 
merely  bowing  my  head,  as  she  spoke,  to  signify  attention  ;  she 
mderstood  me,  and  continued. 

"  He  that  you  know  of  is  ill !  His  life  hangs  on  a  thread  ;  and 
I  am  worn  with  the  unceasing  vigils  of  weeks.  Bianca  and 
Fabius,  too,  have  withdrawn,  entirely  overcome.  I  dare  summon, 
no  other  assistance.  Everything  now  devolves  on  me — will  you 
share  my  task  ?  Can  I  depend  on  you  to  carry  out  my  directions, 
while  I  rest  for  a  few  hours  ?" 

Again  I  bowed  silently — I  could  not  speak  ;  I  felt  a  mighty 
thrill  of  emotion  pass  through  my  whole  frame,  as  men  may  feel 
who  love  battle,  on  the  eve  of  some  great  engagement ;  or,  per- 


1 50  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

haps,  as  one  may  feel,  about  to  behold  the  spirit  of  the  unseen 
dead,  by  some  magician's  aid. 

The  power  and  awe  of  my  sensations  uplifted  and  strengthened 
me,  and  I  made  my  arrangements  to  carry  out  my  grandmother's 
wishes  with  coolness  and  expedition  both.  Yet  I  neglected  no 
requisition  of  my  toilet,  and  I  remember — so  strongly  does  the 
common  place  rule  us,  even  in  our  most  excited  moments,  when  to 
be  useful  is  our  motive — that  I  chose,  with  some  deliberation,  a 
white  cambric  wrapper  from  my  wardrobe,  as  the  suitable  garb 
of  a  watcher,  and  one  most  pleasant  to  the  eye  of  the  patient. 

We  passed  through  the  door  of  her  chamber — that  mysterious 
door,  closed  until  now  to  me — and,  ascending  the  spiral  stairs, 
now  flooded  with  sunbeams  from  the  sky-light,  soon  found  our- 
selves in  the  sealed  apartment  of  Boaverie. 

The  room  w*  entered  now  from  the  circular  hall,  was  not  that 
in  which  the  group  had  been  seated  that  I  had  watched  with  such 
mingled  sensations  on  the  occasion  of  my  secret  visit.  It  lay  on 
the  other  side  of  the  rotunda,  and  corresponded  in  position  with 
the  drawing-room  beneath. 

The  closed  Venetian  shutters  made  an  everlasting  twilight  in 
this  chamber,  save  when  a  stream  of  light  from  the  central  hall 
came  through  the  casually  opened  door ;  but  the  sashes  were 
thrown  up,  and  the  warm,  soft  August  air  crept  freely  through 
the  apartment  from  the  two  great  opposing  windows. 

Through  a  crevice  in  one  of  the  nailed  up  jalousies  a  branch  of 
the  jasmin  that  covered  the  mansion's  front  had  forced  its  way, 
and,  loaded  with  pale  and  odorous  flowers,  trailed  to  the  floor. 
It  seemed  a  hand  of  nature  thrust  through  the  prisoner's  bars,  to 
greet  and  encourage  him  who  might  never  more  see  the  mighty 
mother  face  to  face. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  151 

In  the  centre  of  the  room  stood  a  ponderous  rosewood  bed« 
stead,  very  dark  from  age,  and  shaped  like  a  lengthened  throne, 
and  so  placed  as  to  give  its  inmate  whatever  advantage  of  light 
and  air  existed  in  that  dusky  atmosphere. 

He  lay  on  his  snow-white  bed,  propped  with  pillows  scarce 
paler  than  himself,  that  remarkable  man,  whose  face  seemed  to 
have  become  familiar  to  me  in  one  brief  gaze  of  terror  and 
mystery.  He  was  sleeping  when  my  grandmother  led  me  to  his 
couch,  and  with  noiseless  step  and  lifted  finger  impressed  on  me 
the  necessity  of  silence — sleeping  the  tranquil  sleep  of  illness 
merged  into  debility. 

"  Dr.  Quintil  pronounces  this  a  saving  slumber,"  she  whispered, 
"  if  not  interrupted,  yet  if  any  observable  change  occurs  during 
its  continuance  you  must  not  hesitate  to  call  him.  He  lies  at 
present  on  the  sofa  in  the  opposite  room,  having  watched  all 
night ;  observe  our  patient  closely,  Lilian  ;  I  confide  all  to  you  !" 

She  withdrew,  and  I  sat  close  by  his  side,  watching  a  sleep  that 
closely  simulated  that  of  death  itself — so  profound,  so  tranquil 
was  it — and  poring  on  his  face,  as  though  it  were  a  book  opened 
before  me.  An  expression  of  tender  repose  (if  I  may  so  express 
it)  lingered  over  the  thin,  straight  features,  almost  transparent 
from  disease. 

The  grey  hair,  singularly  indicative  of  strength  and  vitality, 
and  bearing  unmistakable  traces  of  its  original  color,  lay  loose 
and  waving  on  the  pillow.  Long  as  it  had  seemed  before,  it  had 
probably  grown  to  an  unusual  length  during  his  sickness,  and  now 
imparted  an  almost  womanish  character  to  his  face  and  head. 

His  slender  and  elegantly  formed  hands  were  closed  lightly  on 
his  breast,  as  those  of  the  dead  are  often  placed.  A  white  nap- 
kin lay  at  his  side  folded,  and  glossy  ;  but  streaked  and  dappled 


152          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

with  blood  fresh  from  his  bleeding  lungs — a  few  Stiombio  roses 
were  thrown  carelessly  by  it,  as  if  dropped  from  nerveless 
fingers. 

Beside  him  on  a  small  table  was  a  flask  of  ice-water,  a  goblet 
of  antique  form,  some  grapes  on  a  plateau  of  fine  china,  and  a 
rial  of  pyramidal  shape,  filled  with  a  liquid  of  such  brilliant 
amber-color,  that  it  seemed  almost  to  diffuse  rays  of  light 
around  it. 

During  that  long  watch,  my  eyes  became  frequently  riveted  on 
this  vial,  and  attracted  by  its  lambent  lustre,  I  raised  it  between 
them  and  the  light,  so  as  to  scrutinize  the  contents.  I  saw  with 
an  almost  fascinated  interest  what  appeared  to  be  a  hair  of  gold, 
waving  to  and  fro  in  the  liquid  like  a  miniature  serpent.  Now 
rising  to  the  top  in  spiral  lines  as  if  trying  to  escape  from  its  con- 
finement— then  collapsing  in  a  ring  to_  the  bottom  of  the  wide- 
based  vial. 

On  the  bottle  a  label  was  pasted,  on  which  was  inscribed  in 
small,  clear  Italian  chdlacters,  the  "  elixir  of  gold."  This,  then, 
was  that  marvellous  remedy,  of  which  I  had  recently  heard,  for 
the  first  time,  with  more  of  interest  than  faith  I  must  confess  1 
Here,  then,  was  the  realization  of  what  had  appeared  to  me  but  a 
mere  fable  ! 

A  gentleman  with  whom  we  had  met  in  travelling,  a  peculiar 
and  striking  person,  whose  name  and  mien  indicated  a  foreign 
origin,  had  told  Dr.  Quintil  a  story  in  my  presence,  illustrative  of 
the  immediate  efficacy  of  this  medicine. 

A  child  lay  dying  in  a  peasant's  house,  in  which  a  horseman 
sought  temporary  refuge  from  the  storm  which  raged  without. 
Hope  was  over,  and  the  death-struggle  approached,  the  eyes  were 
glazed  and  half-rolled  back  in  their  orbits — cold  dew  stood  on 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  153 

the  clammy  face,  the  power  of  speech,  of  deglutition  itself  was 
gone,  when  the  stranger  asked  permission  to  pour  a  few  drops 
from  a  small  vial  he  drew  from  his  bosom  into  the  parted  lips  of 
the  child.  The  request  was  granted,  and  at  short  intervals  he 
was  allowed  to  repeat  the  experiment. 

The  subtle  drug  seemeo"  to  insinuate  itself  into  the  system  with- 
out the  assistance  of  the  epiglottis  ;  but,  for  a  time,  exerted  little 
opposing  influence  against  the  power  of  the  conqueror.  He 
described  the  marvellous  and  sudden  change  that  at  last  occurred 
— the  returning  hues  of  life,  the  renewed  intelligence  of  the  eye, 
the  strength  restored  as  if  by  magic.  In  an  hour  later  the  child 
sat  up  in  bed  and  called  for  food,  and  the  next  day  rose  to  its 
feet  convalescent  I  Such  was  the  tale  ! 

Something  in  the  graphic  manner  of  the  narrator  left  the  im 
pression  on  my  mind,  that  he  himself  was  the  benefactor  thus  re- 
ferred to,  and  I  smiled  at  the  faith  the  empiric  lent  to  the  work 
of  his  own  hands — doubting  not  for  a  moment,  that  the  recovery 
he  described  had  taken  place  from  natural  causes. 

And  now  my  incredulity  seemed  reasonably  confirmed.  Here 
was  a  dying  man  (he  certainly  seemed  so  to  me)  with  this  won- 
drous yet  unavailing  remedy  in  reach  ! 

Yet  what  a  radiantly  beautiful  fluid  it  was  ! 

Had  it  been  called  "  essence  of  sunshine,"  it  would  not  have 
surprised  me,  for  inherent  radiance  it  certainly  seemed  to  contain. 
I  had  just  time  to  set  the  vial  down,  which  I  had  raised  between 
my  vision  and  the  line  of  light  that  came  through  the  slightly 
opened  door,  when  he  awoke,  coughing  violently,  and  fixed  his 
glittering  eyes  full  on  my  face. 

Aroused  by  the  shrill  summons,  or  perhaps  already  watching 

for  such  a  signal,  Dr.  Quintil  came  almost  instantly  to  his  assist 

7* 


154:  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEBIE. 

ance,  and  sustained  him  in  his  arms  ;  at  the  same  time  whispering 
to  me  to  withdraw  from  the  chamber,  and  remain  without  while 
the  paroxysm  lasted. 

Fabius  had  arranged  my  breakfast  in  the  hall,  on  that  great 
round  table,  from  which  books  and  papers  were  now  cleared 
away,  that  stood  beneath  the  skylight,  and  it  was  truly  accepta- 
ble, for  the  day  was  on  the  tide,  and  I  had  not  tasted  food 
since  the  previous  evening ;  I  was  half  famished  ;  yet  I 
had  hardly  time  to  swallow  a  few  hasty  mouthfuls,  and  drink  my 
coffee,  when  Dr.  Quintil  called  me  from  within. 

I  returned  greatly  agitated.  He  was  awake  ;  he  would  speak 
to  me.  He,  my  mother's  father  !  It  was  like  the  recognition  of 
spirits  in  another  world — ineffable,  overpowering. 

I  advanced  to  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  stood  thrilled,  yet 
mutely  before  him. 

"Come  nearer,  my  love,"  he  said,  extending  one  long,  thin 
hand  to  me,  that  fell  in  the  next  instant  almost  lifeless  beside 
him.  "  Nearer,  that  I  may  discern  your  features  distinctly.  Lilian, 
the  child  of  Morna,"  he  murmured,  "  the  daughter  of  my  child  1" 

."  Even  so,  grandfather,"  I  said,  as  solemnly  as  ever  a  devotee 
gave  back  "Amen"  to  prayer;  and  kneeling,  I  bowed  my  head  on 
his  nerveless  hand,  and  my  nature  took  on  her  new  allegiance. 

The  very  sound  of  his  voice — clear,  sweet,  slightly  tremulous 
at  times,  infinitely  pathetic  in  its  quality — vibrated  through  my 
whole  being,  as  no  sound,  whether  of  speech  or  music,  had  ever 
done  before.  I  felt  within  me  then  the  power,  won  from  the 
electric  shock  of  the  clashing  chains  of  kindred  in  our  veins,  per- 
chance, to  serve  him  faithfully  from  that  hour  with  any  sacrifice 
that  he  might  sen  fit  to  demand,  or  that  I  might  find  it  possible 
to  make. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.  155 

Yet,  why  was  this?  Others  as  nearly  related  to  me  had 
awakened  no  parallel  enthusiasm  in  my  soul.  I  have  done  wrong 
perhaps  in  thinking  that  it  was  the  power  of  blood  that  stirred 
me  thus.  Was  it  not  rather  some  fine  magnetic  influence  totally 
independent  of  mere  relationship,  that  rendered  every  faculty  of 
my  being  as  responsive  to  his  will  as  the  keys  of  the  lute  to  the 
touch  of  the  master  player  ? 

I  know  not  how  long  I  continued  kneeling  and  praying  silently 
beside  him — if  prayer  might  be  called  that  almost  unformed  com- 
muning of  my  soul  with  God — more  a  mood  than  an  utterance. 
He  was  now  forbidden  to  speak  ;  yet  when  I  arose  and  stood 
beside  him  again,  his  beaming  eye  and  smile  were  more  eloquent 
than  words.  They  seemed  to  say  : 

"  Welcome,  my  love,  to  this  solitary  life  of  mine,  art  thou,  as 
morning  to  the  sleepless,  or  showers  to  the  sere  grass.  Hence- 
forth thy  being  shall  be  blended  with  my  own,  and  the  shadow 
that  envelops  me  fall  over  thee  also,  even  as  from  thy  young  ex- 
istence, some  light  and  joy  shall  gild  the  clouds  of  mine.  For 
of  this  nature  is  the  mighty  and  inscrutable  bond  of  blood." 

Such,  to  my  excited  imagination,  seemed  the  meaning,  his  mute 
but  quivering  features  sought  to  convey  ;  such  the  impression  my 
mind  received  from  their  expression — never  to  leave  it  more. 

Yet,  again  I  question,  why  was  this  ? 


156  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEEIE. 

9 


CHAPTER  IX. 

DAYS  wore  on,  during  which  the  struggle  between  life  and 
death  continued  in  the  worn  frame  of  the  sick  man,  until  at  last 
the  grasp  of  the  enemy  relaxed,  and  the  good  genius  was  in  the 
ascendant.  The  disease  our  patient  had  labored  under  was  a 
nervous  fever,  complicated  with  pneumonia.  Those  only  who 
have  ministered  to  this  malady,  can  know  its  tedious,  wearing, 
ever-present  requisitions. 

During  ten  days  of  this  protracted  convalescence,  my  grand- 
mother was  confined  to  her  bed  by  nervous  debility,  and  I  shared 
Dr.  Quintil's  duties  by  the  bed-side  of  the  sick  man.  Fabius  and 
Bianca  rendered  him  what  menial  assistance  was  required.  But 
on  me  devolved,  during  a  long  period,  the  whole  charge  of  sooth- 
ing, and  amusing  his  restless  intellect  into  something  like  subjec- 
tion to  the  necessities  of  his  situation. 

One  of  the  most  stringent  conditions  imposed  on  him,  as  a 
means  of  restoring  his  irritated  lungs,  was  absolute  silence  ;  and 
in  order  to  induce  him  to  preserve  this,  I  was  obliged  to  exercise 
every  faculty  I  possessed,  so  as  to  anticipate  his  wants,  and  be- 
guile his  weary  hours  of  convalescence  with  such  stories  as  my 
memory  or  imagination  furnished.  In  this  way,  and  with  no 
egotistical  motive,  I  laid  before  him,  picture  after  picture,  the 
panorama  of  much  of  my  past  life,  leaving  out,  however,  almost 
instinctively,  some  things  that  I  felt  must  have  grated  harshly  on 
his  feelings.  Nor  did  I  mention  once  the  name  of  Jasper,  bear- 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.  157 

| 

ing  in  mind  Dr.  Quintal's  admonition,  and  the  evident  wish  or 
necessity  that  existed  for  keeping  this  father  and  son  apart. 

He  listened  to  me  with  the  most  eager  and  pleased  attention, 
and  encouraged  me  to  proceed  often,  when  I  would  have  desisted, 
by  an  authoritative  nod  of  the  head  or  wave  of  the  hand,  and 
the  glance  of  his  speaking  eye. 

It  seemed  to  delight  him  especially,  that  I  should  in  some  sort 
have  received  the  poet's  vocation,  which,  among  other  matters, 
came  out  in  the  course  of  this  one-sided  conversation — if  such 
a  Hibernianism  may  be  allowed.  He  almost  compelled  me  to 
read  to  him  some  of  those  childish  effusions  which  Jasper  had 
admired,  and  which  I  cherished  chiefly  for  his  sake.  He  thought 
they  possessed  rare  promise — alas  1  a  promise  never  fulfilled. 

Thus,  through  the  force  of  circumstances,  I  threw  my  nature 
more  widely  open  to  him,  than  I  might  otherwise  have  done  in 
years,  and  felt  drawn  to  him  more  closely  by  his  dependence  on 
my  cares,  than  had  his  been  the  power  to  benefit  me  instead. 

Almost  the  first  words  he  spoke,  when  speech  was  again  per- 
mitted to  him,  shaped  a  startling  inquiry  : 

"  Fabius,"  he  said,  as  he  put  aside  the  delicate  broth  I  had 
brought  him  one  day,  almost  un tasted,  "before  I  eat  another 
mouthful,  tell  me  of  Merodach.  I  have  neglected  him  too  long." 

"  He  is  well,  my  master,"  was  the  respectful  reply  of  the  man- 
machine  so  addressed,  bending  his  head  with  the  peculiar  motion 
of  an  automaton,  moved  by  internal  mechanism  ;  "well,  and  well 
cared  for,  I  may  say." 

"  Ha  1  I  am  glad  of  it,  and  might  have  known  as  much  ;  but 
where  have  you  hidden  him,  Fabius — I  did  not  think  anything 
short  of  death  could  part  us  two.  Has  he  forgotten  me  ?" 

"  I  was  obliged  to  shut  him  up  hi  the  laboratory  when   you 


158  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OP  BOUVERIE. 

were  so  ill.  He  was  so  dissatisfied  and  troublesome,  walking 
around  your  bed  night  and  day  ;  and,  at  first,  he  would  not  cat- 
like you,  sir,  now — but  he  has  grown  quite  contented  again." 

This  intelligence  seemed  to  please  my  grandfather.  His  eye 
twinkled,  and  he  laughed  silently.  "  The  rascal ! — I  have  spoiled 
him,  I  suppose — not  eat,  eh  1"  Then  slowly  finishing  his  soup,  to 
the  last  drop,  he  said  : 

"I  am  a  new  man  to-day,  Lilian,  and  so  I  shall  take  up  old 
duties.  Paradoxical,  eh  I" 

I  smiled.  "Reach  me  that  lyre,  child,"  pointing,  as  he  spoke, 
to  the  uncouth  instrument  hanging  on  the  wall ;  "  and  let  me  play 
for  you."  I  laughed,  as  I  took  it  down,  at  the  droll  misnomer. 

"Lyre,  grandfather? — this  quaint  thing  a  lyre  !  Why,  it  is 
nothing  like  the  pictures  I  have  seen  of  the  Grecian  lyre — more 
like  a  '  turn-turn,'  I  think,  or  a  banjo  even  !" 

"  Give  it  to  me,  nevertheless  ;  it  is  a  friend  of  mine — dear  to 
me  as  the  violin  of  Paganini  that  contained  his  father's  soul.  I 
found  it  in  a  Russian  prison,  and  it  soothed  me  when  I  was 
chafing  my  life  out  like  a  caged  tiger  in  the  toils  of  Paulovitch  ! 
I  never  thought  I  should  grow  musical,  for  I  hate  the  art  that 
veils  sensuality  under  the  guise  of  sentiment.  But  I  was  fain  to 
reach  down  this  old  matter  from  the  wall  of  my  dungeon — where 
it  hung  as  on  the  wall  of  this — and  echo  myself  on  its  chords. 

v 

The  charm,  after  all,  was  in  the  result  obtained  from  this  exercise 
of  taste  and  skill" — he  laughed  ironically — "  rather  than  in  the 
performance  itself. 

"  Aladdin  was  never  more  surprised  at  the  consequence  of  his 
accidental  lamp-rubbing,  than  was  I  when  I  beheld  the  strange 
slave  of  the  lyre  glide  forth,  and  obey  its  summons  !  It  stood 
before  me  in  quiet  expectation,  evidently,  of  what  it  soon  received. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.          159 

I  understood  the  case,  and  gave  it  food.  Matters  were  reversed  ; 
I,  King  Jehoiachim,  being  in  prison,  did  give  a  daily  ration  to 
Evil  Merodach,  king  of  Babylon." 

"  How  did  you  know  his  name,  grandfather  1"  I  asked,  laugh- 
ing ;  "  or  why  did  you  bestow  it  ?" 

"It  was  engraven  on  his  card,"  he  answered,  seriously — " his 
card  of  introduction,  you  know  1" 

"  His  card,  grandfather  1  Then  Merodach  was  not  a  dog,  as  I 
thought,  but  a  man—a  maniac,  I  suppose,  hidden  away  in  the 
gloom — some  poor,  half-crazed  musician,  perhaps." 

"  You  will  see — you  will  see,  Lilian  !  Apollo  made  his  first 
lyre,  they  say,  of  just  such  a  card  as  he  offered  me.  Now,  how  do 
you  like  my  music  ?  Your  grandmother  says  one  had  as  well  try 
to  play  the  flute  on  a  tomahawk,  as  imitate  King  David  on  such 
an  instrument  as  this  ;  but  you  shall  judge." 

And  he  struck  a  few  wild  chords  on  the  imperfect  lyre,  as  he 
chose  to  call  it,  on  which  he  played  without  the  least  musical  pro- 
ficiency, certainly,  yet  with  a  certain  graceful  abandon.  The 
tones  elicited  were  the  most  thrilling  and  peculiar  I  had  ever 
heard.  The  ^Eoh'an  harp,  perhaps,  comes  nearer  than  aught  else 
to  the  low,  long  wail — for  melody  there  was  none — that  rose  and 
fell,  as  he  threw  his  fingers  over  the  uncertain  strings. 

He  paused,  stilling  the  sound  by  the  pressure  of  his  hand. 

"  Carry  him  to  the  hall,  Fabius,  and  set  him  down  there  ; 
leave  the  door  open,  and  I  will  see  if  he  remembers  his  old  clan- 
call  still." 

In  a  few  moments  Fabius  entered,  silently  pointing  back  to  the 
hall,  to  indicate  the  requested  presence,  and  setting  the  door  wide 
open  as  he  entered. 

My  grandfather  rose  to  a  half-sitting  position  in  his  bed,  as  if 


160          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

nerved  to  sudden  strength,  and  struck,  with  all  the  force  he  pos- 
sessed, a  few  rapid  chords  in  quick  succession  ;  then,  after  these 
had  died  away,  threw  out  another  group  of  notes,  so  to  speak, 
with  an  interval  of  a  few  minutes  between  each  cluster  of  chords, 
until  my  patience  was  well-nigh  exhausted,  and  curiosity  at  its 
height.  I  rose  eagerly  to  go  into  the  hall. 

"Be  patient,  Lilian,  he  is  coming — I  hear  his  dragging  feet." 
His  ear,  made  acute  by  illness,  had  heard  what  was  perfectly  in- 
audible to  mine,  listen  as  I  might,  and  quick  as  was  my  own 
sense  of  hearing.  Again  he  struck  his  instrument — of  whatever 
it  might  be  called — not  of  music,  certainly — diablerie  might  be 
the  proper  term— turning  upon  the  door  his  brilliant,  expectant 
eye,  with  his  lips  half  open,  disclosing  the  gleam  of  the  white 
teeth  between  them  ;  and  looking,  for  the  moment,  more  like  an 
inspired  bard  than  a  man  playing  the  child  to  cheat  necessity.  I 
thought  irresistibly  of  that  fine  line  of  Dryden, 

"  When  Juoal  struck  the  chorded  shell," 

as  1  gazed  at  him.  Expectation  was  at  its  height  with  me,  when 
a  slight  exclamation  from  his  lips  turned  my  attention  to  the 
door,  on  the  threshold  of  which,  and  in  the  full  glare  of  light 
thrown  from  the  sky-light,  appeared  the  uncouth,  circular  form  of 
a  small  tortoise. 

"  Oh,  grandfather,  is  this  all  ?"  and  I  clasped  my  hands  in  an 
ecstasy  of  disappointment. 

"  All,  Lilian  ?  why  the  wonder  lies  in  that  very  word.  Mero- 
dach  is  a  prodigy — -the  prince  of  tortoises — a  lineal  descendant, 
perhaps,  of  that  famous  fellow  that  sustained  the  world  on  hia 
back,  according  to  Brahmin  theology.  Not  quite  large  enough 
for  that,  you  think,  eh,  Lilian  ?" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  16.x 

Strangely  enough,  this  very  thought  was  passing  through  my 
mind  in  ridiculous  appositeness  at  the  moment. 

"Wonderfully  intelligent,  though,  as  you  shall  see.  Come 
hither,  Evil,  old  fellow ;  I  am  glad  to  see  thee.  Is  the  joy 
mutual,  Evil  ?  King  of  Babylon,  brother  in  captivity,  how  art 
thou  ?  Put  up  a  claw,  Merodach,  and  salute  Jehoiachim  I" 

He  leaned  from  the  low  bedstead,  so  as  to  let  his  hand  drop  on 
the  floor,  and  the  animal  advanced  briskly  for  one  of  its  species 
toward  him,  with  a  sort  of  awkward  mincing  trot,  unspeakably 
ludicrous  ;  then  turning  half  on  its  side,  it  thrust  out  its  reptile 
head,  and  reposed  one  flabby  paw  in  the  open  palm  of  its  master. 
I  shuddered  at  its  repulsive  hideousness. 

"  He  walks  fast  to-day,"  said  Fabius  ;  "we  are  going  to  have 
rain — he  is  better  than  a  barometer,  Miss  Lilian." 

"  Lift  him  up,  Fabius  !  Let  him  perform  his  war-dance,  while 
he  is  in  the  humor,  for  Lilian's  amusement.  Here,  place  him 
here  !"-and,  in  accordance  with  the  directions,  he  was  deposited  on 
the  circular  stand  by  the  bed. 

"  Now,  dance,  Merodach,  as  David  did  before  the  ark  ;  and  be 
thou  more  charitable  than  Micah,  Lilian  1" 

Again,  throwing  his  hand  over  his  quaint  instrument,  my 
grandfather  rang  forth  a  few  wailing  chords,  hi  obedience  to 
which  the  tortoise  commenced  going  through  a  series  of  the  most 
absurd  evolutions  conceivable,  alternately  jerking  and  quivering, 
pausing  and  proceeding. 

When  he  was  tired  of  this  amusement  his  master  regaled  him 
with  crumbs  spread  on  the  table,  which  he  devoured  eagerly 

"  Look  at  his  name  now,  Lilian,"  he  said,  directing  my  atten- 
tion to  the  syllables  Ev.  Mer.  distinctly  engraved  on  his  back  ; 
"  see  there  indisputable  evidence  of  its  truth  !" 


162  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

"  It  must  have  hurt  him  to  do  this,  iu  spite  of  his  tough  shell,* 
he  continued  ;  "for  he  feels  a  drop  of  rain  even  on  its  surface  ; 
see  there  !"  and  he  sprinkled  a  few  drops  of  water  on  his  back 
from  the  glass  beside  him.  "  See  how  he  shrinks  and  trembles, 
and  draws  in  his  head  !  Yet  his  favorite  resort  is  a  tub  of  water, 
where  he  reigns  like  a  wet  Diogenes — strange  paradox,  eh  ! 
Lilian — to  revel  in  the  bath,  and  shrink  from  rain  !  He  believes 
in  baptism,  not  sprinkling,  evidently  1 

"But  you  shall  see  him  play  parson  !"  And  by  some  means  the 
creature  was  made  to  understand  the  nature  of  the  demand.  For, 
rearing  on  its  hind  feet  and  shell,  it  stood  half  leaning  forward  for 
a  moment,  with  its  fore-paws  extended,  and  reptile  head  thrust 
out,  imitating  as  closely  as  possible  the  attitude  of  a  preacher 
bestowing  benediction. 

"  It  is  very  droll,  grandfather — how  did  you  make  him  do  it  ? 
Do  tell  me  1" 

"  By  means  of  this  I"  he  said,  exhibiting  a  small  tooth-pick, 
which  he  had  held  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  and  which  opened 
and  shut  with  a  spring. 

"  I  touched  him  with  the  point  in  a  sensitive  place,  between  the 
shell,  and  it  caused  him  to  throw  himself  back,  not  from  present 
pain,  but  past  association." 

"  Grandfather  I  did  you  have  to  torture  him  once,  in  order  to 
teach  him  this  trick  ?" 

"  Ay,  child,  ay  !  but  what  of  it  ?  I  do  not  hurt  him  now  ;  it 
only  reminds  him  of  the  red  hot  steel.  It  is  plain,  he  has 
memory." 

"  Oh,  grandfather  !"  I  sat  down  perfectly  sick.  "  Never  let 
him  repeat  that  before  me  again;  I  could  not  have  believed  1" 

"  No  preaching,  my  love,  if  you  please  1    Let  the  matter  pass. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.  163 

• 

Fabius,  take  Merodach  away  ;  close  the  door  after  you. 
Lilian,  you  had  best  retire  ;  I  think  I  can  go  to  sleep  now." 

I  sat  in  the  hall  at  my  embroidery,  under  the  cheerful  skylight, 
across  which  a  troop  of  doves  swept  occasionally,  that  roosted  in 
a  locust-grove  near  by — throwing  their  skimming  shadows  down 
upon  the  floor.  An  hour  later  I  heard  my  name  called  by  my 
patient,  and  went  into  the  chamber  again.  He  had  risen  and 
was  sitting  in  his  great  chair,  dressed  in  his  velvet  dressing-robe  ; 
very  pale,  but  refined  and  stately  as  a  king  of  lineal  descent. 

He  greeted  me  with  his  usual  smile  as  I  entered — the  cloud 
had  passed  away  that  had  risen  for  a  moment  between  us. 

"  Lilian,"  he  said,  "  I  have  been  thinking  about  Merodach, 
and  the  way  in  which  I  came  to  name  him,  or  rather  to  guess  his 
name,  since  you  went  out.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear  it !" 

"  Certainly,  grandfather,  it  would  give  me  great  pleasure;  that 
is,  if  the  recital  would  not  fatigue  you  too  much." 

"  No,  no,  child,  I  must  talk  now  ;  the  long  pent-up  stream 
must  find  its  way  to  light,  you  know,  at  last — so  listen  :  I  had 
been  reading  the  last  chapter  of  '  Kings/  the  book  lay  open  on 
the  table  before  me,  when  that  queer  lettering  on  the  back  of  the 
tortoise  first  caught  my  eye,  and  I  saw  its  significance  at  once. 
For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  a  little  superstitious,  I 
confess." 

"  That  was  strange,"  I  rejoined ;  then  added,  after  hesitation : 
"  but  after  all  not  convincing  I  How  came  the  tortoise  there  ? 
To  whom  did  it  belong  originally  ?" 

"  To  the  last  occupant  of  the  prison — to  him  who  owned  the 
Bible  and  the  lyre — he  had  fashioned  it  with  his  own  hands  to 
beguile  his  weary  captivity.  A  man  immured  for  many  years  to 
unit  a  tyrant's  whim,  and  released  at  last  by  the  great  Emancipa- 


164  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.    f 

tor.  A  W*elchman,  I  believe,  one  Evan  Meredith,  such  at  least 
was  the  name  written  in  the  sacred  volume  he  tacitly  bequeathed 
to  me,  for  I  found  it  in  prison." 

"  Grandfather,  the  beginning  oi  each  of  those  words  corre- 
sponds so  exactly  with  the  characters  on  the  back  of  the  tortoise, 
that  I  cannot  help  thinking  it  was  his  master's  name  he  carried 
about  with  him  1" 

"  You  are  right,"  he  said,  after  a  pause  ;  "  this  never  occurred 
to  me  before — yet  the  flash  of  evidence  is  irresistible  now,  Fabius," 
and  he  turned  to  the  attendant  now  standing  behind  Ms  chair, 
"  Did  you  ever  think  of  this  ?" 

"  Always,  my  master  1"  was  the  sententious  reply.  "  Why 
did  you  not  speak,  then,  you  man  of  mystery  ?" 

"  The  name  you  chose  pleased  you,  sir ;  what  difference  did  it 
make  ?" 

A  grim  smile  played  over  my  grandfather's  face  ;  the  question 
was  unanswerable. 

"  Let  the  name  stand,"  he  said  at  last — "  the  name  I  have 
given  him.  It  is  a  good  name,  and  he  knows  it  now,  and  answers 
to  the  Babylonish  incantation.  Let  it  stand  !" 

"  Grandfather,  how  did  you  bring  Merodach  away  with  you  ; 
and  the  old  lyre,  when  you  left  the  prison — escaped,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  No,  child,  no.  When  Paulovitch  unclosed  his  hand,  and  let 
the  bird  fly,  he  sent  after  him  all  that  he  believed  to  be  his  pro- 
perty— the  broken  eggs  that  remained  in  the  nest — a  chest  of 
clothes,  some  jewels  and  books,  an  uncouth  lyre,  and  an  uncouth 
tortoise  1  Such  were  the  possessions  of  the  prisoner.  Great  was 
his  magnanimity,  princely  his  liberality,  as  he  could  wring  nothing 
from  me,  either  by  imprisonment  or  torture  ;  he  let  me  go  to  save 
his  prison  rations,  and  my  effects  followed  me." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  165 

"Were  you  long  in  prison,  grandfather?"  I  asked  after  a 
pause. 

"  Five  years,  my  child — scarcely  half  as  long  as  I  have  been 
hi  this." 

"  But  what  a  difference.  Here  you  are  comfortable,  surrounded 
by  your  family  :  there  you  were  probably  worse  situated  ?" 

"  Yes,  comparatively  comfortless  and  desolate,  as  far  as  ex- 
ternals went.  But,  oh  !  Lilian,  hope  was  then  an  inhabitant  of 
this  heart,  fluttering,  like  the  dove  in  Noah's  hand,  eager  to 
escape  from  the  ark  ;  but  now  a  callous  serpent  coils  there  in- 
stead, cold  as  ice,  sluggish  as  death." 

"  Grandfather,  what  a  picture  1"  A  livid  shadow  seemed 
passing  over  his  face.  Fabius  saw  it,  and  quickly  leaving  the 
room,  returned  with  the  pyramidal  vial  I  had  seen  on  his  table, 
and  poured  from  its  lips,  drop  by  drop,  a  portion  of  its  flashing 
fluid  into  a  slender  glass. 

His  master  received  it  eagerly,  drank  it  down,  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  a  moment ;  then,  recovering  his  energies,  as  if  by  magic, 
resumed  the  conversation,  without  reference  to  the  agent  of 
restoration  employed,  the  weird  mystery  of  which  so  deeply  inte- 
rested me. 

"  The  sight  of  your  fair  young  face,  the  sound  of  your  fresh,  true 
voice,  with  its  sweet,  throaty,  thrushlike  richness,  have  done  more 
to  revive  me  than  all  the  care  and  remedies  of  more  experienced 
nurses.  These  things  were  life-giving  ;  and,  hear  me,  Lilian, 
save  yourself,  there  is  no  live  thing  within  those  walls.  All  else 
are  ghosts  of  the  past.  There  is  no  vitality  here — none,  child, 
none  1" 

I  thought  of  Jasper,  his  son  ;  but  I  had  learned  to  suppress 
all  mention  of  him  in  his  presence,  and  yet  the  mystery  of  this 


166  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

terrible  necessity  (if  such  it  were)  weighed  on  me  like  a  pall,  that 
sundered  two  lives,  belonging  so  rightfully  to  one  another,  and 
shut  away  the  sweetness  and  freshness  of  the  son  from  the  sor- 
row and  stagnant  morbidness  of  the  father. 

What  the  rain  is  to  the  earth  would  Jasper  be  to  him,  I 
thought.  Oh,  what  can  have  arisen  between  them  ?  Why  is  my 
grandfather  here  ?  What  means  this  immurement,  this  mystery  ? 
What  is  the  shadow  that  broods  so  heavily,  so  inscrutably  over 
this  strange,  sad,  devoted  household  of  Bouverie — this  mournful 
hall  of  Vathek  ? 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE.  167 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  twentieth  of  September  found  health  again  an  inmate  of 
Bouverie  ;  yet  on  the  morning  of  that  day  I  missed  my  grand 
mother  from  her  usual  post  at  the  breakfast  board,  and  re« 
marked  the  sombre  shadow  that  rested  on  Dr.  Quintil's  face.  In 
answer  to  my  inquiries,  he  said  : 

"  Mrs.  Bouverie  is  not  ill ;  but  you  know,  Lilian  (you  must 
have  remarked  it  before,  I  think),  that  this  day  is  a  mournful 
anniversary  with  her." 

I  did  indeed  recall  the  fact,  that  at  a  corresponding  period  in 
every  year,  during  my  residence  at  Bouverie,  retirement  and 
silence  had  prevailed  among  its  inmates.  The  recurrence  of  this 
day  had  been  observed  among  them,  it  seemed  to  me,  as  penitents 
keep  Ash  Wednesday — with  seclusion  and  self-sacrifice  ;  but  the 
mystery  of  its  sorrow  still  remained  unexplained. 

"  Go,  Lilian,"  he  said,  when  our  melancholy  meal  was  con- 
cluded, "  and  see  that  your  grandmother  is  cared  for.  This  was 
Jasper's  province  once  ;  it  now  devolves  on  you." 

I  hesitated.  It  was  inexpressibly  painful  for  me  to  undertake 
this  task.  To  intrude,  unbidden,  on  her  solitude  ;  to  meet  that 
calm,  sorrowful,  icy  face,  that  had  already  been  lifted  before  me, 
when  at  the  sound  of  her  passionate  weeping  I  had  been  im- 
pelled to  enter  her  apartment  uncalled. 

"  I  am  not  fit  for  such  a  mission,  Dr.  Quintil,"  I  said.  "  I 
think  I  am  singularly  wanting  in  the  power  of  expressing  sym- 
pathy. I  have  no  tenderness  of  manner." 


168  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

"  Passionate  child  !"  he  said,  shaking  his  head  slightly,  as  if 
musing  on  the  estimate  I  had  placed  on  my  own  powers.  "  How 
strangely  you  have  mistaken  your  own  vocation.  I  have  known 
few  persons  with  such  capacity  for  affection.  I  confess  it  has 
made  me  tremble  for  your  happiness  sometimes." 

"  Yes,  when  the  floodgates  are  fairly  open,  I  grant  you,  and 
njy  feelings  are  vividly  aroused.  But,  Dr.  Quintil,  forgive  me — 
do  not  think  me  ungrateful — my  grandmother  has  no  longer  the 
power  to  do  this." 

"Is  it  possible!"  he  said.  "Are  you  resentful  after  all? 
Have  I  over-estimated  your  native  generosity  ?  Do  you  not  love 
your  grandmother  ?" 

And  he  gazed  at  me  with  a  sort  of  incredulous  horror,  as  if 
this,  with  him,  were  the  one  unpardonable  sin. 

"  Have  I  not  been  forbidden  to  do  so  ?"  I  questioned  in 
return,  dropping  my  eyes  beneath  his  long,  sad  gaze,  and  crim- 
soning to  t':e  temples.  "  Has  she  not  enjoined  me  not  to  lova 
her  ?" 

"Aye,  true,  true.  I  had  forgotten  that  silly  escapade  of 
yours,  so  long  over  now,  founded  on  uncomprehended  words  of 
hers.  Let  that  pass,  Lilian  ;  duty  is  in  the  path  now,  you  will 
not  put  that  aside  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  I  answered  drily,  "I  will  do  whatever  you 
desire — whatever  you  think  best.  But,  if  this  be  duty,  why  not 
go  yourself?" 

He  smiled. 

"  I  have  no  such  privilege,"  he  answered,  sadly.  "I  am  a 
mere  outsider  after  all,  governed  by  the  proprieties,  you  know. 
If  it  were  a  case  of  physical  ailment,  if  drug  or  knife  were 
needed,  I  should  be  earliest  on  the  scene  of  action  ;  but  in  a  case 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIB.  169 

fike  this,  I  have  no  business  there.  I  hope  you  understand,  my 
child,  that  it  is  from  no  selfish  wish  to  save  my  own  feelings,  that 
I  do  not  go  at  once  to  the  chamber  of  affliction. 

"  Lilian,  this  sacred  privilege  is  yours  ;  go,  then,  enter  the 
room  quietly,  but  firmly  ;  do  what  you  can  to  dispel  the  gloom 
that  lies  like  a  dark  pall  to-day  over  that  most  sorrowful  woman; 
and  persuade  her  out  of  herself,  and  the  useless  past,  if  this  be 
possible."  He  waved  his  hand,  and,  turning  from  me,  sat  down 
in  a  deep  chair,  and  covered  his  brow  and  eyes  with  his  hands. 
There  was  silence  for  a  time,  unbroken,  save  by  the  faint  murmur- 
ings  of  his  moving  lips — moving  and  murmuring  unconsciously.  J 
knew  that  he  was  engaged  in  prayer. 

With  a  sense  of  the  sacred  nature  of  his  occupation,  I  arose  and 
left  him,  and  sought,  as  he  had  desired  me  to  do,  my  grandmother's 
chamber.  After  a  moment's  delay  with  Bianca,  I  entered  through 
my  own,  the  connecting  door  of  which  I  found  unlocked. 

She  was  lying  on  her  bed,  half-dressed  in  some  loose  wrapping- 
gown,  dark,  pale,  motionless.  The  shutters  were  bowed,  so  as  to 
exclude  the  beautiful  autumn  sun  ;  the  fire  of  fagots,  that  she 
loved,  had  burned  down  to  ashes  on  the  hearth.  The  room  was 
cold  and  dim,  in  striking  contrast  to  all  the  warmth  and  glory 
without. 

"What  is  the  use  of  all  this  grief?"  was  my  harsh,  unsympa- 
thizing  thought,  as  I  entered  the  shadowed  chamber.  "  Why  not 
cast  it  by,  and  go  frankly  forth,  and  strike  hands  with  nature 
herself,  the  unfailing  consoler  ?" 

I  stood  beside  her  bed.  Her  attitude  was  that  of  a  calm 
sleeper  ;  but  her  large,  dark  eyes  were  open  and  fixed,  staring  on 
the  wall,  as  if  memory  had  painted  there  some  ghastly  picture  in- 
visible to  all  other  vision.  I  clasped  her  hand — I  called  her 

8 


170  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEEIE. 

name  ;  yet,  for  some  moments,  she  did  not  seem  to  regard  my 
presence. 

"Lilian,  is  it  you?"  she  said  at  last.  "Have  you  come  to 
keep  the  birth-day  of  despair  with  me  ?  If  so,  sit  down  among 
the  ashes  !"  Her  smile  was  bitter  and  unnatural. 

"Job's  comforters  did  this,  grandmother,"  I  replied;  "yet, 
after  all,  proved  torturers  alone.  No,  I  will  not  sit  down  among 
the  ashes  ;  it  is  you  who  must  rise  out  of  them.  Put  the  ill  thing 
away  from  you,  and  keep  no  more  of  its  evil  birth-days  !  Throw 
off  the  sackcloth — you  have  worn  it  long  enough."  Such  were 
my  harsh  and  inconsiderate  words. 

"  Lilian  1"  she  paused,  she  turned,  she  raised  herself  on  one 
supporting  arm,  and  bent  on  me  a  gaze  of  surprised  reproof. 

"  Lilian  !"  she  continued,  in  accents  of  earnest,  pathetic  remon- 
strance, "  you  know  not — you  cannot  know,  how  intimately  this 
sorrow  is  interwoven  with  my  very  heart-strings.  They  must  be 
cut  loose,  Lilian,  before  it  can  be  severed  from  my  being.  On 
this  day,  ten  years  ago,  my  hand  received  the  only  full  cup  of  joy 
God  ever  deigned  to  place  within  its  grasp — dashed  down  at  once, 
before  it  reached  my  lips,  to  lie  in  the  dust  forever !  Oh  !  my 
child,  look  on  me,  not  with  that  cold,  astonished  face,  but  with 
sympathy  and  affection,  such  as  belong  to  you  by  nature  !  Look 
on  me,  the  most  doomed,  the  most  desolate,  of  all  the  daughters 
of  men — would  I  could  say  of  God,  but  he  has  withdrawn  himself, 
he  has  rejected  me  ;  my  claims  on  him  are  unrecognized — mine  is 
the  curse  of  Saul !" 

Again  that  accusation  against  her  Maker  !  I  could  not  sup- 
press a  stifled  cry — this  thought,  which  I  had  once  before  heard 
from  her  lips,  was  singularly  revolting  to  my  nature.  She  mis- 
took, perhaps,  the  cause  of  my  emotion,  for  iu  another  moment 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  171 

she  drew  me  closely  to  her  breast,  and  held  me  there,  while  she 
murmured  : 

"  Comfort  me,  then,  as  you  only  can  comfort  me,  most  dear., 
most  beloved,  of  all  living  things,  to  me  !  My  daughter's  child — 
dearer  than  Jasper's  self !"  This  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever 
acknowledged  her  deep  affection  for  me,  and  I  was  melted  and 
overcome  by  her  tenderness,  almost  as  woman  is  stirred  by  the 
spoken  love  of  man. 

"  Do  you  not  know,"  she  whispered,  "  the  fate  of  all  that  I 
love  ?  Are  you  not  afraid  to  be  one  of  these  ?  Afraid  of  him 
who  is  my  fate  ?" 

"  Oh,  grandmother,"  I  remonstrated,  catching  remotely  at  her 
meaning,  "  why  should  I  be  afraid  ?  All  are  so  good,  so  kind,  so 
affectionate — he  as  well  as  others.  Thank  you,  dear  grand- 
mother, that  you  permit  me  to  love  you  at  last." 

"I  have  not  said  this,"  she  said,  withdrawing  her  arms  from 
me,  and  shrinking  back  again  amid  her  pillows  ;  "  I  have  granted 
you  no  new  permission — let  the  old  order  of  things  remain.  It  is 
better  so,  darling — it  is  best  for  all !" 

She  turned  her  face  from  me,  and  lay  quite  still  with  her  eyes 
closed,  for  the  space  of  half  an  hour  ;  and  during  that  interval  I 
moved  quietly  through  the  room,  making  such  arrangements  as  I 
thought  would  please  her — placing  her  chair  and  work-table  by 
the  hearth,  on  which  I  heaped  fresh  fagots  from  the  box  of  pine 
wood  near. 

It  was  her  fancy  at  certain  seasons  to  burn  this  aromatic  wood, 
and,  to  me,  as  well  as  to  her,  there  certainly  was  something  singu- 
larly reviving  and  cheering  in  the  odor  as  well  as  the  brilliant 
flame  emitted  by  the  freshly  cut  branches  loaded  with  fir-cones. 
As  the  pleasant  light  flashed  through  the  shadowed  chamber,  she 


172  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

rose,  and  approached  the  hearth.  I  drew  her  down  in  her  chair, 
and  felt  that  her  hands  were  icy  cold. 

"  Heat  is  the  universal  comforter,  grandmother,  I  believe,"  I 
said  ;  "suffering  makes  one  so  cold,  whether  mental  or  physical." 

"  I  am  a  perfect  fire-worshipper,  I  know,"  she  said,  half 
smiling  ;  "  I  can  conceive  of  a  cold  hell." 

"  Dante,  I  believe,  described  such  a  place  of  torture  ;  but  I  am 
not  certain — it  is  so  long  since  I  read  the  '  Inferno  '  and  I  have 
not  seen  it  here." 

"  Did  you  read  it  in  Scotland,  Lilian  ?" 

"  Yes,  grandmother.  I  read  whatever  our  library  contained, 
and  fought  the  battle  of  the  Greeks  and  Trojans — through  the 
medium  of  a  translation — when  I  was  seven  years  old.  I  was  in 
danger  of  becoming  a  member  of  the  Pantheon  church  in  those 
days,  so  implicitly  did  I  believe  in  Homer's  gods  and  goddesses. 
I  am  almost  ashamed  to  tell  you  that  I  never  saw  a  rainbow 
without  looking  to  see  Iris  descending  it,  as  a  boy  runs  down  a 
banister,  bound  on  some  message  or  other  ;  and  as  for  Pan,  after 
I  read  of  him,  I  was  afraid  to  go  into  the  woods  on  his  account. 
He  answered  the  part  of  devil  to  me,  so  literal  was  my  imagina- 
tion." 

"  How  strange — how  original !"  she  said,  leaning  on  her  hand, 
and  gazing  on  my  face  ;  "how  sad  even  !  Lilian,  had  you  no 
companions  ?" 

"  None,  except  Grandmother  De  Courcy,  and  Rene,  the  grey- 
hound. I  never  enjoyed  Bridget's  society.  She  was  my  nurse, 
you  know,  a  cross,  loud-spoken  woman — and  those  dear  books 
were  meat  and  drink  to  me." 

"  Did  your  grandmother  know  how  indiscriminately  you 
read  ?" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVBKIE.  173 

"  My  teacher  sometimes  complained  of  this — our  pastor  also 
he  was,  Dr.  Somers — who  died  just  before  she  did,  a  very 
learned,  but  deaf,  and  somewhat  disagreeable  old  man  :  I  think  I 
told  you  about  him  before.  He  sometimes  complained  of  my 
desultory  style  of  reading,  but  she  took  little  heed,  and  answered 
only  by  desiring  him  to  remove  from  her  library  whatever  books 
he  deemed  objectionable,  and  lock  them  away,  and  thus  save 
all  further  trouble.  So  he  began  by  picking  out  the  '  Arabian 
Nights,'  and  '  Moore's  Melodies,'  and  '  Don  Quixote,'  and  Mr 
Beckford's  strange  book,  '  Yathek.'  But  I  laughed  him  to  scorn, 
for  I  had  all  these  at  my  fingers'  ends,  and  proved  to  him  that  I 
had,  by  the  way  of  taunt ;  and  so  the  poor  man,  utterly  be- 
wildered by  the  extent  of  my  ill-doing,  desisted  from  his  task, 
muttering  as  he  did  so,  quite  in  Cardinal  Wolsey  style — '  Heh, 
bairn  1  had  you  served  your  teacher  better,  and  the  deil  less,  you 
would  have  been  in  a  different  condition  now.  But  matters  maun 
tak  their  course.  It  would  require  fire  and  steel  to  expurgate 
tliis  library,'  and  so  he  wheeled  off  in  a  silent,  puritanic  rage." 

"  What  a  mournful  life  yours  has  been,  Lilian  I  Passed  with 
the  old,  the  harsh,  the  sorrowful,  shut  away  from  all  glad  and 
beautiful  influences.  How  very  unusual  has  been  your  fate  !" 

"You  forget,  grandmother,  you  forget,"  I  said,  bending  my 
head  before  her,  while  the  glow  of  feeling  mounted  to  my  brow, 
"  I  have  known  Jasper  !" — as  if  in  that  word  were  contained  all 
the  light,  the  joy,  the  gladness,  that  other  natures  divide  among 
a  thousand  objects.  I  remained  mute  after  I  had  uttered  it. 
She,  too,  sat  gazing  fondly,  sadly  on  me,  as  though  the  name  of 
him  she  loved  so  well  had  been  fruitful  to  her  of  a  train  of  ten- 
der recollections,  and  given  rise  to  a  host  of  sweet  and  bitter 
fancies. 


174:  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

A  light  tap  at  the  door  brought  me  to  my  feet.  Bianca  had 
brought,  at  my  suggestion,  a  small  tea  waiter  for  her  mistress, 
/which  I  received  from  her  hand,  and  placed  on  the  stand  by  her 
side. 

"  She  won't  like  it,  Miss  Lilian,  she  won't  like  it,  believe  me," 
whispered  Bianca,  as  I  received  the  tray.  "  "Us  a  fast  day  with 
her,  as  I  warned  you,  and  no  one  ever  ventured  before." 

With  a  nod  and  smile,  I  closed  the  door  against  further  remon- 
strances and  intrusion,  and  hastened  to  the  fireside  at  once,  with 
my  burden — not  noticed  at  first,  for  still  she  gazed  forward  as 
if  on  space,  weaving  perhaps  her  web  of  thought  from  that  dis- 
astrous past,  which  invested  that  glorious  autumn  day  with  such 
peculiar  gloom,  and  even  sanctity  of  woe  to  her. 

She  turned  suddenly  at  last,  and  glanced  at  the  nicely  ap- 
pointed waiter,  with  evident  displeasure. 

"  Who  has  taken  this  liberty  ?"  she  said  with  asperity.  "  What 
ill-timed  intrusion  is  this  ?" 

"  Blame  me,  dear  grandmother,  for  the  whole.  Bianca  re- 
monstrated (let  me  do  her  justice),  but  your  physician  must  be 
obeyed."  • 

I  knelt  on  the  stool  beside  her,  and  commenced  preparing  the 
beverage,  as  I  knew  she  liked  it  best,  weighing  the  sugar  to  a 
grain,  dropping  rather  than  pouring  the  yellow  cream  into  the 
fragrant  hyson,  served  in  one  of  those  shallow  transparent  cups, 
out  of  which  she  preferred  to  drink  it. 

"  And  now,  dear  grandmother,  just  one  cup  for  the  sake  of 
your  leech — Dr.  Lilian  de  Courcy." 

"  I  am  relieved,"  she  said,  putting  the  cup  aside.  "  I  could 
not  reconcile  such  treatment  with  what  I  know  of  Quintil." 

"  You  will  not  refuse  me,  grandmother,  this  slight  request — 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          175 

this  unimportant  sacrifice.  I  would  do  so  much  more  to  gratify 
you." 

T  clasped  her  hand,  I  raised  it  to  my  lips,  still  pressing  the  ex- 
tended cup  on  her  acceptance. 

"  Wayward  girl !"  A  half  smile  curled  her  lip.  She  did  not 
seem  to  think  the  matter  worth  contention.  She  took  the  cup  and 
drank  its  contents.  I  saw  at  once  their  beneficial  effects,  in  the 
renewed  lustre  of  her  eye  and  color  of  her  cheek,  hitherto  pale 
and  dark. 

As  sunshine  is  to  the  earth,  was  this  rich  crimson  to  her  aspect 
— lighting,  revivifying,  regenerating,  beautifying  the  whole. 
Without,  all  was  cold  and  grey  like  twilight.  My  heart  leaped 
up  to  see  the  returning  life-blood  brought  back  by  my  means, 
lend  new  glory  to  the  sweet,  noble  features  I  so  admired  ;  and, 
nerved  by  a  sudden  impulse,  I  spoke  my  thoughts,  still  grasping 
her  hand. 

"Oh,  grandmother!  you  make  an  idol  of  your  grief,  and 
sacrifice  to  it.  Is  this  right — is  this  just  ?  Remember  what  Long- 
fellow says — the  writer  you  love  :  '  Let  the  dead  past  bury  its 
dead.'  You  must  live  down  this  trouble." 

She  withdrew  her  hand.  I  saw  that  I  had  offended  her,  when 
I  sought  to  soothe. 

"  Such  words,  Lilian,  from  your  young,  inexperienced  lips,  sur- 
prise me.  Who  has  taught  you  this  lesson  ?  What  preacher  of 
commonplace  ?  Pray  choose  a  fitter  text." 

"  My  test  is  there,  grandmother,"  I  said  rising  before  her, 
while  my  heart  swelled  high  with  its  mixed  emotions,  difficult  to 
describe,  and,  pointing  to  a  spray  of  remontant  roses  in  a  glass 
on  the  mantel ;  "Nature  supplies  it,  and  the  sermon  is  not  hard 
to  preach.  Those  flowers  have  succeeded  the  dead  bloom  of 


176  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVEKIE. 

the  spring  ;  and  the  bush  they  grow  on  does  not  strike  its  sap  to 
the  ground,  because  its  earliest  blossoms  died,  but  sends  forth 
more,  and  renews  itself,  and  so  should  the  human  heart,  grand- 
mother." 

"  Child,  child  !"  she  said,  rising  in  her  turn,  and  confronting  me 
sternly,  "  it  is  too  much.  Your  intrusion,  your  attentions,  your 
suggestions  even,  I  have  borne  with  what  patience  I  might,  but 
when  you  presume  to  grapple  with  the  horrors  of  my  life,  and 
judge,  without  knowing  these,  its  capacity  for  endurance,  you  go 
too  far.  Were  I  to  tell  you,"  she  continued,  in  a  gloomy  tone, 
dropping  the  excited  manner  in  which  she  had  hitherto  spoken, 
and  bending  over  the  chair  in  which  she  had  so  lately  been  seated, 
"were  I  to  tell  you  the  nature  of  that  sorrow,  whose  deep  recur- 
rence this  day  brings  back  to  me,  you  would  sink  beneath  the 
recital — yon  who  have  tried  to  measure  your  puny  strength  with 
mine.  What  comfort  do  you  imagine  the  Virgin  Mary  found,  on 
the  anniversary  of  her  holy  son's  crucifixion,  so  great  as  teaw 
and  solitude  ?  These  things  are  precious  to  the  afflicted,  a.nd 
must  not  be  denied  to  them." 

"  Grandmother,  I  am  grieved."  I  could  say  no  more,  but 
bursting  into  tears,  turned  to  leave  the  room  ;  my  hand  was  on 
the  lock. 

"  Lilian,"  I  heard  her  say,  in  a  sobbing  voice.  I  turned,  her 
arms  were  open,  she  was  standing  on  the  hearth,  gazing  after 
me. 

"  Lilian,  return  and  forgive  me  ;  you  must  stay  with  me." 

And  so,  through  that  long,  bright  day,  I  lingered  beside  her, 
in  the  shadow,  speaking  sometimes  of  things  dear  to  her,  of  Jas- 
per, of  his  proposed  tour  in  Italy,  and  sojourn  hi  Florence,  and 
hi?,  earnest  love  of  art,  of  his  prolonged  absence,  of  his  glad  and 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  177 

certain  return  ;  for  I  did  not  share  her  misgivings  on  the  subject, 
and  she  found  comfort  in  my  superior  confidence.  And  now,  for 
the  first  time,  the  name  of  Everard  Howe  was  spoken  between 
us.  Dr.  Quintil  had  told  her  all  he  knew  of  our  intercourse  ; 
much  more  remained  to  be  communicated,  and,  without  any 
reservation  on  my  part,  this  was  done.  She  said  but  little, 
yet  listened  with  earnest  attention,  which  entirely  beguiled 
her  for  a  while  from  any  thought  of  self,  to  every  word  I 
uttered,  pressing  my  hands,  from  time  to  time,  between  her 
own,  as  if  from  some  fullness  of  feeling  that  could  find  no  relief 
in  words. 

When  I  had  spoken  of  this  matter,  in  all  its  details,  a  deep 
silence  fell  over  us  again,  so  heavy,  so  oppressive,  that  it  seemed 
almost  a  mantle  that  one  might  feel,  and  wrap  around  one,  and 
take  shelter  beneath. 

It  weighed  my  senses  down.  I  slept ;  and  when  I  awakened, 
my  head  was  lying  on  her  bosom,  and  through  the  great  open 
window  the  last  crimson  rays  of  the  mild  autumn  evening 
poured  into  the  chamber,  reminding  me,  with  a  sensation  of 
sweet  relief,  that  the  day  set  apart  for  sorrow  was  at  an 
end. 

"  I  would  not  disturb  you,"  she  said,  "you  slept  so  sweetly, 
so  profoundly  ;  and  now  go  and  join  Dr.  Quintil,  at  the  tea- 
table.  To-morrow,  at  breakfast,  I  will  be  there  with  you  ; 
and,  Lilian,  hear  me,  this  much  you  have  achieved,  I  have 
kept  this  anniversary  of  blood  for  the  last  tune,  but  no  food 
to-night,  no  more  society  either.  Go,  dearest,  I  would  be 
alone." 

I  kissed  hex  forehead,  and  withdrew.  There  were  letters  that 
night  for  all  from  Jasper — long,  dear,  delightful  letters.  The 


178  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

evening  passed  away  so  pleasantly  in  their  pernsal,  that  I  scarcely 
realized  its  flight ;  but,  even  for  the  sake  of  such  communication, 
I  did  not  venture  to  disturb  my  grandmother's  sacred  repose 
again,  and  those  directed  to  her  remained  unopened  in  Dr.  Quin- 
til's  desk  until  morning. 


BOOK  THIRD. 


"  I  cannot  love  him 

Tet  I  suppose  him  virtuous,  know  him  noble, 
Of  great  estate,  of  fresh  and  stainless  youth, 
A  gracious  person,  yet  I  cannot  love  him." 


"  May  my  fears, 

My  filial  fears  be  vain,  and  may  the  vaunts, 
And  menace  of  this  vengeful  enemy 
Pass  like  the  gust  that  roars  and  dies  away 
In  the  distant  trees." 


BOOK       THIRD. 

CHAPTER  I. 

WHAT  strange  power  exists  in  the  human  mind  to  put  away 
unwelcome  suspicion  1  It  would  have  been  unnatural,  impossible, 
for  me  to  do  otherwise  than  connect  with  the  prisoner  of  Bouverie 
much  of  the  sorrow  that  rested  on  its  inmates  ;  and  many  of 
those  mysterious  allusions  to  which  I  no  longer  desired  a  clue. 
Something  had  occurred,  I  knew,  so  dark,  so  dreadful  even,  in  its 
nature  as  to  sever  family  ties — and  to  cut  off  from  all  communion 
with  his  fellow-men,  that  strangely  attractive  and  gifted  person 
whose  whole  safety  lay  in  secrecy.  But  my  mind  refused  to  rise 
in  evidence  against  him.  I  would  not  imagine  his  crime.  I 
sought  to  ignore  it  altogether.  Pity,  admiration,  respect,  tender 
interest  drew  me  toward  him  with  irresistible  force.  Day  by 
day  he  acquired  fresh  power  over  me.  His  voice,  his  manner,  hig 
brilliant  though  often  erratic  conversation  ;  his  vast  acquirements 
and  power  of  setting  these  forth  ;  his  uncomplaining  meekness,  as 
it  seemed  to  me  so  strangely  at  variance  with  a  spirit  all  fire,  all 
impetuosity — the  strain  of  deep  pathos  that  ran  through  hia 
systematic  cheerfulness — and  spread  above  all  these  like  a 
princely  mantle  that  dignity  of  courtesy  that  commands  deference 
wherever  it  may  be  found.  These  attributes  swayed  and  fascinated 
me  beyond  any  opposing  power  that  reason  or  expedience  could 
have  exercised. 

I  felt  instinctively  that  my  grandmother  regarded  this  growing 


182  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

influence  with  an  unquiet  heart,  a  feeling  as  far  above  jealousy  as 
perfect  disinterestedness  could  make  it;  and  not  from  a  wish  to 
deceive,  but  to  spare  her  feelings  I  concealed  from  her  as  much 
as  possible  the  powerful  sentiment  with  which  my  grandfather  had 
inspired  me. 

My  visits  to  him  were  frequently  made  alone.  From  a  com- 
passionate wish  to  enliven  his  solitude  as  much  as  possible,  the 
inmates  of  Bouverie  divided  their  visits,  so  as  to  fill  as  many 
hours  as  possible  of  the  twelve  assigned  to  occupation. 

He  had  indeed  expressed  a  wish  to  this  effect,  and  my  grand- 
mother had  in  accordance  with  his  desire,  given  me  her  duplicate 
key  of  the  secret  chamber,  and  placed  no  impediment  in  the  way 
of  our  unrestrained  intercourse.  The  invariable  presence  of 
Fabius  on  these  occasions,  mechanical  as  it  was,  proved  no 
restraint  to  conversation,  as  that  of  any  participating  third  party 
must  have  done.  The  slight  deafness  of  the  individual,  pre- 
dominating in  one  ear  so  as  to  cause  a  peculiarly  stiff  one-sided 
carriage  of  the  head,  as  if  always  thrown  back  in  an  attitude  of 
attention,  and  a  habit  of  dozing,  even  while  standing  in  readiness 
to  attend  on  his  master's  orders — and  which  did  not  interfere  in 
the  least  with  his  immediate  attention  to  duties,  waking  as  he  did 
with  a  start  and  snap  of  the  eyes  that  never  failed  to  amuse  me, 
even  though  so  often  repeated — these  peculiarities  rendered  him 
one  of  the  least  oppressive  witnesses  to  the  communion  of  others 
that  could  have  been  secured  or  desired. 

From  the  very  first  the  old  man  had  taken  me  singularly  into 
favor,  and  his  earnest  wish  had  been,  that  I  should  be  permitted 
to  visit  and  minister  to  his  master,  for  whom  his  admiration  and 
affection  were  unbounded. 

But   Mrs.  Bouverie  had  so   sternly  impressed  upon  him  the 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEBIE.  183 

necessity  of  silence  with  regard  to  my  presence  in  the  household, 
and  connected  her  commands  with  such  assurances  of  deep  dis- 
pleasure, that  he  had  been  mute  on  the  subject.  Taciturn,  and 
uncommunicative  by  nature,  it  was  not  difficult  for  him  to  keep  a 
secret.  Mystery  seemed  indeed  his  favorite  atmosphere,  as  un- 
questioning fidelity  was  his  peculiar  attribute.  Yet  his  satisfac- 
tion was  unmistakable  at  the  result  of  my  acquaintance  with  his 
master.  He  surveyed  with  evident  gratification  that  familiar  yet 
not  informal  intercourse  that  existed  between  us,  so  in  keep- 
ing with  his  own  ideas  of  ceremonious  dignity.  He  was  never 
more  pleased  than  when  called  upon  to  contribute  to  my  amuse- 
ment by  assisting  in  those  chemical  experiments  with  which  my 
grandfather  helped  to  beguile  the  time,  and  my  exclamations  of 
wonder  and  delight  were  music  to  his  ear.  My  interest  in  all  that 
concerned  my  grandfather — my  contributions  of  flowers,  of  fruits, 
of  books,  my  fondness  for  the  poor  dull  tortoise  even  (which  I 
fed  and  fostered  until  it  learned  to  know  me)  were  all  received  by 
Fabius  as  personal  attentions. 

"  Why  not  keep  a  dog  or  a  bird  instead  of  this  poor  earth- 
bound  creature  ?"  I  said,  one  day  to  him.  "  Do  you  not  think, 
Fabius,  we  might  procure  a  pet  that  would  please  my  grandfather 
better,  cheer  him  more  ?" 

He  laid  his  fingers  on  his  lips,  a  common  gesture  of  his  when 
he  wished  to  be  impressive.  "  Silence,  secrecy,  are  the  watch- 
words here,  you  know,  Miss  Lilian  ;  a  dog  barks,  a  bird  sings — 
such  indiscretion  might  lead  to  discovery.  Besides,  my  master 
never  cared  for  pets — Merodach  was  a  special  Providence,  you 
know,  Miss  Lilian,  not  to  be  rejected." 

This  was  a  longer  speech  than  I  had  ever  heard  him  make 
before.  It  seemed  to  have  fatigued  him — he  closed  his  lips  with 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEKEE. 

a  snapping  sound,  and  was  inexorably  silent  thereafter  for  some 
time.  How  perfectly  his  nature  dovetailed  with  Bianca's,  who 
was  a  born  chatter-box,  controlled  only  by  circumstances ! 
How  refreshing  to  both  must  have  been  their  conversation,  car- 
ried on  in  true  jug-handle  style  ! 

Communications  being  all  confined  to  one  side,  and  received 
and  contained,  on  the  other,  even  as  the  contents  of  a  jug,  once 
poured  in,  are  held  in  its  inscrutable  depths ;  yet,  perhaps,  after 
all,  in  the  deep  confidence  of  the  conjugal  chamber,  the  "jug," 
properly  shaken,  did  at  tunes  gurgle  forth  a  stream  of  its  long 
withheld  yet  not  less  precious  contents.  I  have  reason  to 
know,  at  least,  that  toward  the  last,  Fabius  did  intrust  to  the  ear 
of  his  spouse  the  hopes,  the  schemes,  the  stratagems,  in  which  his 
master  indulged,  and  in  which  he,  poor  faithful  fellow  !  was  the 
mechanical  abettor.  How  fatally  unsuccessful,  both  to  himself 
and  to  others,  reader,  you  si:  all  learn. 

When  rny  grandmother  committed  to -my  hands  the  duplicate 
key  I  have  mentioned,  she  coupled  with  the  trust  certain  condi- 
tions not  difficult  to  be  observed,  and  the  reasonable  nature  of 
which  were  manifest  at  once.  I  was  charged  never  to  leave  the 
door  unlocked,  even  for  a  moment,  nor  the  key  in  the  lock,  nor  to 
suffer  this  to  pass  into  any  other  hands  on  any  pretence  what- 
ever. 

Fabius  still  found  his  cautious  way  through  the  basemenc— - 
from  every  part  of  which  Pat  McConnick  had  been  excluded  oil 
pain  of  condign  punishment ;  and  Dr.  Quintil  accompanied  my 
grandmother  most  frequently  in  her  visits,  or  made  use  of  .her  key 
when  he  went  alone,  which  was  seldom  enough. 

Their  visits  were  made  in  the  evening — mine  in  the  day-tune,  in 
the  interval  of  study  or  other  occupation,  and  most  frequently 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          185 

with  work  in  hand,  which,  my  grandfather  said,  gave  such  a  home- 
aspect  to  every  woman.  At  night,  I  sat  with  Bianca  in  the 
dining-room,  engaged  most  often  in  writing,  or  in  the  perusal  of 
some  favorite  author,  a  species  of  occupation  which  was  not  only 
congenial  to  my  tastes,  but  useful,  as  a  positive  defence  against 
her  garrulity. 

I  had  long  risen  above  the  childish  inclination  to  draw  from  my 
grandmother's  servant  what  she  herself  withheld  from  me.  It  was 
now  my  turn  to  check  all  communications  that  might  have  opened 
before  me  that  sealed  volume  of  the  past,  so  religiously  closed 
from  my  eyes  by  those  who  loved  me  best,  and  were  the  fittest 
judges  of  my  happiness. 

So  I  waived  away,  as  gently  as  I  could,  every  approach  on  her 
part  to  subjects  that  I  knew  must  be  fraught,  whenever  opened, 
with  exquisite  pain  to  me  ;  nor  did  I  lose  either  her  affection  or 
confidence  by  the  course  of  conduct  I  pursued.  Her  tender 
nature  clung  to  my  rougher  and  hardier  one  with  strange  tenacity, 
mingled  with  respect.  The  question  of  servitude,  as  connected 
with  this  feeling,  was  out  of  place  under  the  peculiar  circum- 
stances that  bound  us  together.  I  doubt  whether  the  problem  of 
position  ever  occurred  to  either  of  us  as  worthy  of  consideration. 
I  was  the  hope  of  her  heart.  She  had  but  one  other.  I  was  the 
only  being,  save  Jasper,  who  bound  her  to  the  future.  My  very 
faults  seemed  to  have  endeared  me  to  her.  He  was  "perfect," 
she  said  ;  "too  perfect  for  this  world."  But,  for  me,  she  must 
ever  watch  and  pray.  Bishop  Clare,  my  grandmother,  Dr.  Quin- 
til — in  this  order  she  ranged  the  objects  of  her  greatest  earthly 
idolatry.  For  my  grandfather  she  entertained  sentiments  of  no 
ordinary  aversion,  even  if  mingled  with  habitual  respect.  She 
was  antagonistic  to  him,  evidently — naturally  so,  perhaps.  She 


186  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

groaned,  when  I  coupled  his  name  with  tenderness  or  admiration  ; 
and  sometimes  rolled  her  eyes  and  made  a  faint  sign  of  the  cross 
at  its  very  sound,  as  if  preparing  for  a  defence  against  the  assaults 
of  the  evil  one.  But  beyond  this  she  was  not  permitted  to  go, 
and  she  felt  and  yielded  to  this  necessity  tacitly,  as  was  best  for 
us  both.  Although  I  could  not  but  perceive  the  unexpressed 
misgivings  that  my  peculiar  pleasure  in  my  grandfather's  society 
occasioned  his  wife,  I  still  believe  that  she  did,  with  some  unex- 
plained paradoxical  condition  of  mind,  rejoice  that  natural  feelings 
had  found  their  outlet  between  us. 

It  seemed  that  she  had  doubted  this  result  hi  the  first  instance, 
having  knowledge  of  his  peculiarities  ;  and,  probably,  as  much  for 
this  as  other  reasons,  had  concealed  from  him  my  presence  in  the 
household,  until  justice  to  both  made  revelation  necessary.  She 
had  chosen  for  this  announcement  a  time  which  she  considered 
most  favorable  and  auspicious.  A  tune  when  tender  care,  on  one 
hand,  and  absolute  dependence,  on  the  other — reversing  the  natu- 
ral relations  of  strength  and  weakness  that  subsist  originally  be- 
tween man  and  woman,  parent  and  child — might  merge  all  per- 
sonal considerations  into  one  deep,  harmonious  affection. 

She  had  chosen  well,  as  time  and  circumstances  proved.  Yet, 
having  so  decided,  so  acted,  she  had  trembled  for  the  conse- 
quences to  me,  fearing,  that,  with  returning  health,  might  recur 
some  of  those  bitter  whims  and  jealousies  that  had  hitherto  ren- 
dered every  object  of  her  affection,  objectionable,  often  unenduro- 
ble  to  him. 

Perhaps  my  own  impulsive  devotion  to  him  from  the  first,  and 
the  instinctive  insight  I  had  into  the  hearts  of  both,  had  much  to 
do  in  determining  and  coloring  our  future  intercourse.  I  was 
enabled  thus,  in  justice  *-o  myself  as  to  each  of  these  beloved  rel?v 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTTVERIE.  187 

tions,  to  parry  all  investigations  on  the  part  of  either,  as  to  the 
precise  nature  of  my  feelings  toward  the  other.  Was  it  not  a 
strange  order  of  things  that  I,  the  centre  in  which  their  feelings 
concentrated,  should  have  been  forced,  for  self-protection  almost,  to 
a  non-committal  course,  verging  on  duplicity,  utterly  foreign  from 
my  nature,  my  habits,  or  my  true  position. 

There  was  something  degrading,  cruel,  even,  in  such  necessity. 
Yet  I  maintained  it  as  the  least  of  evils.  I  was  like  one  who  had 
gotten  hold  of  a  clew  that  should  lead  him  through  a  labyrinth, 
determined  to  hold  on  to  its  friendly  aid  though  it  conducted  him 
through  dark,  and  devious,  and  suffocating  passages,  at  first, 
offensive  to  soul  and  sense,  and  confident  that  at  last,  by  such  as- 
sistance, he  should  emerge  to  light  and  air. 

I  would  not  surrender  either  of  these  dear  yet  divided  parents. 
My  mother  !  my  father  ! — the  only  ones  that  remained  to  me  I 
Both  so  nobly  beautiful,  in  their  stately  yet  separate  age  ! — both 
so  gifted,  so  widely  yet  differently  endowed  ! — both  so  unfortu- 
nate !  Both,  it  seemed  to  me,  so  good.  Guilty  !  no,  I  would 
not  couple  the  word  with  either — I  would  put  it  away  forever. 
What  business  was  it  of  mine  ?  Was  I  their  appointed  judge  ? — 
was  it  for  me  to  usurp  the  divine  prerogative  ?  Guilty  !  Ha  I 
the  sting  was  there  at  last !  I  would  trample  it  under  foot ;  I 
would  cherish  no  serpent  like  this  ;  or,  at  most,  I  would  pluck  the 
venom  from  the  fang,  by  duty,  by  submission.  Yet  there  were 
times  when  the  dark  spirit  triumphed — times,  when  lying  in  my 
quiet  bed,  suddenly,  unexpectedly,  imagination  would  present 
before  me  a  list  of  horrors,  soliciting  me  to  choose  my  fate  from 
them.  For  was  not  my  fate  and  theirs  indissolubly  bound  from 
the  beginning  in  the  warp  and  woof  of  the  same  mysterious  des- 
tiny 1  Could  any  act,  human  or  divine,  separate  us  now  ?  Ob  { 


188  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

then  it  was,  my  Creator,  that  the  whole  mystery  and  beauty  of  the 
great  word  "  atonement"  flashed  in  a  blaze  of  glory  over  my  soul ! 
The  past  was  fixed  and  unalterable  ;  the  future  unchangeable, 
growing,  as  it  does,  from  that  adamantine  past,  as  branch  from 
tree,  as  fruit  from  flower,  an  implacable  necessity  of  'a  consistent 
God. 

What  then  remained  ?  Was  there  no  hope  ? — none  for  the 
offender  ?  Yes  !  the  greatest,  the  noblest,  ever  vouchsafed  to 
finite  creature  by  infinite  power.  The  hope  of  renewal,  pardon, 
peace,  not  evanescent,  susceptible  of  change,  as  are  all  the  institu- 
tions of  this  world ;  but  great,  glorious,  eternal,  beyond  decay  ! 

So  in  my  soul  the  germs  of  an  early  implanted  religion  grew 
and  waxed  strong  from  suffering.  Had  there  been  no  atmosphere 
of  sorrow  about  me — no  pall-like  mystery  pressing  forever  on  my 
bosom — no  voiceless  call  for  sympathy  from  those  about  me,  ever 
ringing  in  the  deeps  of  my  spirit,  I  should  have  been  hard,  cold, 
strong,  worldly,  selfish,  perhaps — that  darkest  of  all  evils,  shut- 
ting out,  as  it  does,  sympathy,  and  self-sacrifice,  and  charity,  the 
angels  that  in  the  guise  of  travellers  abode  all  night  in  Abraham's 
tent — insensible  to  the  claims  of  humanity  or  the  voice  of  God. 

My  very  intellect  would  have  taken  the  marble  type,  for  such 
was  its  natural  inclination  ;  but  the  rock  was  smitten  by  the  pro- 
phet's rod,  and  sweet  and  living  waters  gushed  from  its  granite 
breast.  Enough  of  this  !  I  linger  on  my  way. 

Like  one  who  goes  back  to  an  old  homestead  long  forsaken,  in 
the  company  of  a  stranger,  where  every  grassy  stone  invites  him 
to  rest,  every  tree  to  stand  at  gaze,  every  bubbling  brook  to 
drink,  boy-fashion,  from  his  hollowed  hand,  in  memory  of  the 
past ;  but  who  forgets,  in  his  own  acted  reverie,  that  another, 
bound  by  no  such  power  of  association,  pauses  carelessly  beside 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUTEBIE.  189 

him,  or  follows  mechanically  his  erratic  steps.  Like  this  revisitor 
of  the  abode  of  early  days,  I  linger  on  the  pathway  of  the  young 
life  to  which  I  am  returning  in  spirit  as  I  write,  pausing  on  its 
motives,  drinking  from  its  memories,  resting  on  its  sorrows,  for- 
getting, for  a  time,  how  in  this  self-indulgence  I  am  wearying  the 
patience  of  my  companion.  I  am  recalled  to  a  sense  of  my  mouii- 
siderato  egotism.  Reader,  let  us  proceed. 


CHAPTER  II. 

LETTERS  from  Jasper,  describing  minutely  his  mode  of  life,  the 
gradual  improvement  in  his  limb  and  general  strength,  yet  deplor- 
ing the  failure  of  every  effort  art  could  make,  or  science  suggest, 
for  the  restoration  of  his  power  of  speech,  had  recently  arrived. 
I  was  not  disappointed  by  this  want  of  success,  as  my  grand- 
mother and  Dr  Quintil  seemed  to  be.  I  think  I  never  realized 
the  extent  of  this  privation  in  his  case  as  I  should  have  done. 
Did  not  this  very  want  make  him  more  peculiarly  our  own  ? 

Yet  what  a  deficiency  was  here  to  a  man  of  Jasper's  genius, 
which  might,  from  its  fine  sensibility,  have  taken  the  shape  of 
eloquence,  I  think  had  the  power  of  expression  been  given  to 
him,  too  fine,  too  evanescent  perhaps  (wanting  this)  to  transmit 
itself  perfectly  through  the  secondhand  medium  of  the  pen. 

In  the  pulpit,  in  the  rostrum,  in  the  chair  of  the  lecturer,  how 
beautiful  would  his  presence  have  been  !  How  greatly  would 
the  luminous  eyes,  the  expansive  brow,  the  graceful  gestures 
have  aided  the  cause,  whatever  it  might  have  been,  he  meant  to 
advocate  1  How  delicious  would  his  intonation  have  been  in 
correspondence,  as  must  have  been  the  case,  with  the  sweetness 
of  his  character  ;  how  musical  his  sentences  1  I  can  imagine  all 
this  now  ;  but  then,  as  I  have  said,  I  did  not  realize  the  void  left 
in  his  being  by  that  extinguished  power.  Now,  how  greatly  the 
absence  of  "  words,  words,"  as  Hamlet  called  them  in  his  half- 
mocking  philosophy,  had  marred  the  purpose  of  his  very  life. 

Jasper  wrote  to  us  of  the  pictures  he  was  engaged  upon,  chiefly 

190 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  191 

of  a  suggestive  character  as  these  were.  To  those  called  "  En- 
durance," and  "  Regret,"  I  shall  hereafter  revert ;  but  my  favor- 
ites among  his  later  works  were  those  exquisite  and  ethereal  images 
called  "  Fancy,"  and  "  Ideality,"  for  thus  he  divided  into  two 
distinct  attributes,  the  mighty  power  men  name  imagination. 

His  "  Dying  Flora,"  and  "  Aurora  Waking,"  came  to  us  now 
as  proofs  of  his  genius  and  improvement  in  the  executive  depart- 
ment of  his  art ;  the  first,  a  frail,  sweet  shape,  stretched  on  a  bed 
of  leaves,  strewn  with  broken  and  faded  blossoms.  A  leafless 
tree,  a  wintry  sky,  an  unstrung  lyre,  a  shivered  hour-glass,  a  dead 
Cicala,  were  the  suggestive  features  of  this  picture.  The  faint 
and  shadowy  face  of  the  dying  girl,  half  veiled  with  fleecy  curls, 
was  unspeakably  beautiful.  A  tender  smile  lingered  about  the 
lips,  and  the  fading  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  humming-bird  she  held 
in  her  hand,  still  fluttering  with  life.  Was  this  intended  as  a 
suggestion  of  a  better  hope  ?  It  pleased  me  inexpressibly  to  de- 
tect, after  long  scrutiny,  a  weeping  Faun  lurking  in  the  shadow 
of  an  old  stone  altar,  half  hidden  by  trailing  vines.  His  flute 
lay  beside  him.  The  whole  attitude  of -the  grotesque  figure  was 
one  01  pity  and  sorrow. 

"  Is  it  not  a  lovely  thought,  dear  grandmother,"  I  asked,  "  the 
spirit  of  the  woods  laments  the  death  of  flowers  ?  I  like  it 
better,  too,  for  stealing  out  of  the  picture,  as  it  were,  like  an 
afterthought,  something  created  by  one's  own  taste  and  feeling 
rather  than  the  artist's  pencil,  one  must  gaze  so  long  before  it  is 
perceived." 

I  looked  at  Dr.  Quintil,  his  eyes  were  full  of  tears.  Were 
they  of  bitterness  for  the  void  which  even  this  gift  so  ill  sup- 
plied ?  Were  they  of  gratified  pride  ?  I  know  not,  for  uttering 
the  careless  words,  "  The  boy  has  genius  certainly,"  he  turned 


192  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

away  and  left  the  apartmeiit  before  the  second  picture  had  been 
examined. 

"  Poor  Jasper,  your  genius  is  at  a  discount,"  I  said,  discouraged 
and  surprised  as  I  was  by  the  reception  his  works  had  met  with 
from  those  whose  good  opinion  he  most  cared  for.  My  grand- 
mother still  stood  in  silence,  and  gazed  half  indifferently  I  thought 
upon  the  picture. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  appreciate  your  good  fortune  sufficiently, 
madam,"  I  added  in  playful  accents.  "  Just  reflect  on  your  im- 
portance in  possessing  a  painter  and  a  poet  as  the  members  of 
your  household.  Few  queens  have  more  to  boast  of." 

She  smiled  and  shook  her  head. 

"The  name  of  Bouverie  will  yet  be  enrolled  among  those  of 
the  great  artists,  I  believe,  grandmother,"  I  continued- ;  "  yet 
how  insensible  you  seem  to  this  dawning  glory  of  your  name." 

"Bouverie?"  she  questioned,  starting  slightly.  "Oh,  yes,  I 
agree  with  you,  Lilian,  Jasper  is  probably  doomed  to  distinction." 

"  Such  a  strange  word,  grandmother,  to  apply  in  such  a  sense. 
Would  not  destined  be  better  ?" 

"  Small  difference,  Lilian,  between  doom  and  destiny  after  all ; 
are  they  not  indeed  the  same  ?  I  count  him  the  happiest  man 
who  fills  no  part  in  the  dramatic  role  of  fate — the  man  of  whom 
the  world  knows  least — the  man  who  has  no  vocation." 

"  Ah,  grandmother,  you  are  in  one  of  your  cynical  moods  to- 
day. I  hoped  the  sight  of  these  pictures  would  do  you  good. 
But  no,  every  one  is  depressed  by  Jasper's  success,  it  seems  ; 
every  one  but  me.  As  to  Dr.  Quintil,  he  is  really  envious  I 
believe.  I  cannot  account  hi  any  more  plausible  manner  for  his 
strange  indifference  in  going  away  so  soon." 

"  He  will  return,  Lilian,  long  after  everyone  else  has  forgotten 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          193 

the  novelty  of  the  picture,  you  will  see  him  standing  day  by  day 
before  it,  for  that  boy  has  hold  of  his  life-strings  ;  but  it  behooves 
me  to  be  .patient  and  self-contained  to  restrain  your  ambitious 
boasting,  Lilian.  And  now  listen  to  what  I  have  to  say  to  you. 
My  deep  experience  of  life  forbids  me  placing  so  high  an  estimate 
on  these  things,  as  you  do  in  your  unsophisticated  freshness  and 
solemn  faith  in  the  efficiency  of  genius  to  cure  all  ills.  There  sits 
a  man  at  this  moment,  above  stairs,  as  superior  in  natural  power 
and  capacity  to  that  poet,  that  painter  of  whom  you  have  re- 
minded me  with  something  like  vain  glory  in  your  words,  as  I 
to  the  simplest  clown.  How  fares  it  with  him,  Lilian  ?  Deserted 
by  all  the  world,  consigned  to  a  living  grave,  deprived  of  the 
privileges  of  the  meanest  slave,  he  wears  away  his  life  in  humili- 
ation, hi  solitude.  What  avail  him  now  those  talents,  those 
attractions,  that  kingly  intellect,  that  will  of  fire  ?  The 
shadow  is  on  him  and  beneath  it  he  must  abide,  and  with 
this  example  before  my  eyes,  it  has  come  to  pass,  that  I  have 
learned  to  appreciate  no  quality  that  is  not  simple,  lowly,  and 
God-fearing  ;  I  dread,  I  confess,  the  erratic  tendency  of  that 
quality  men  call  genius." 

It  was  no  tune  for  argument,  at  any  other  I  might  have  placed 
a  lance  in  rest  against  her  ;  but  the  sacredness  of  her  grief,  the 
poignancy  of  her  allusions,  silenced  me  and  extenuated  her  pre- 
judices in  my  eyes.  Was  she  the  loser  ?  The  reader  shall  judge. 
I  made  haste  to  seek  and  recover  a  copy  of  verses  I  had  left  on 
her  table,  designed  for  her  eye  of  course  ;  but  which  she  forfeited 
now  forever,  in  consideration  of  her  estimate  of  my  little  light  of 
genius.  Small  portion  enough  of  this,  heaven  knows  they  con- 
tained, yet,  in  honor  of  the  intention,  and  to  preserve  its  in- 
tegrity, I  reclaim  them  now,  yellow  and  faded  by  time  from  the 
9 


194  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

portfolio  in  which  they  have  lain  perdu  so  long,  and  insert  them 
in  this  faithful  transcript  of  the  past.  These  lines  had  been 
written  in  the  summer,  during  that  period  of  bitter  dejection  on 
my  grandmother's  part,  that  succeeded  our  return  from  travel, 
when  her  whole  nervous  system  seemed  unstrung,  and  her  long 
deep  sighs,  broke  on  my  ear  in  every  interval  of  sleep,  during  one 
restless  night,  when  weary  with  my  prolonged  watch  above-stairs, 
I  vainly  sought  rest  in  my  own  chamber.  I  had  not  found 
courage  then  to  offer  them  to  her  ;  but  I  felt,  after  the  scene 
between  us  on  the  day  of  her  seclusion,  that  I  might  venture  to 
lay  them  before  her  with  no  unreasonable  hope  that  as  a  tribute 
to  her  own  sorrow,  and  a  specimen  of  my  girlish  verse,  they  might 
be  graciously  accepted. 

The  sentiments  she  had  uttered,  had  altered  my  opinion.  The 
lines  had  been  written  from  deep,  almost  irrepressible  feeling.  I 
could  not  bear  to  have  them  slighted,  or  coldly  received,  and  so,  I 
laid  them  by  in  my  portfolio  and  lost  sight  of  them,  and  when  other 
poems  of  mine,  little  better,  perhaps,  were  given  to  the  world, 
this  was  passed  over  and  forgotten  ;  I  redeem  it  now. 

J^claim  for  it  no  merit^it  has  not  even  that  of  being  a  link  in 
the  story — and  may  be  considered  as  a  bead  only  on  the  guard- 
chain,  the  dark  sombre-twisted  circle,  that  I  am  weaving  (poorly 
enough,  I  fear)  from  the  tangled  skein  of  the  past,  and  I  give  the 
reader  my  gracious  permission,  to  read,  or  pass  it  by  at  will. 

But  I  sternly  enjoin  him  not  to  criticise  the  poet  as  presented 
in  these  pages,  save  in  her  prose,  and  again  I  beseech  him  to 
excuse  whatever  of  peculiarity,  inversion,  or  imperfection  of  struc- 
ture, may  be  found  in  that  prose,  on  the  grounds  that  the  writer 
is  a  poet  !  The  habit  of  cutting  down,  compelling  into  small 
compass,  pruning  and  repairing  which  belongs  of  necessity 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  195 

to  the  poetic  culture  is  almost  fatal  to  the  expansive  energy  of 
prose. 

Reader,  it  is  a  strange  rule  that  will  not  work  both  ways.  I 
have  proved,  I  think,  that  I  am  entitled  to  forbearance  botL  9R 
novelist  and  poet.  The  poem  runs  thus  : 

DAY. 


Come !  The  dawn  is  cool  and  grey, 
And  the  shadows  fleet  away, 
Misty  prophets  of  the  day. 

From  the  conflict  of  the  night, 
Thou  hast  risen  stern  and  white, 
As  the  victor  from  the  fight. 

Wrung  in  spirit — faint  of  limb, 
\\  eary  of  the  wrestle  din, 
With  the  unseen  seraphim. 

And  the  coming  of  the  dawn, 
Shows  the  vanquished  foe  withdrawn, 
Night,  thine  enemy  is  gone ! 

Bathe  thy  brow,  and  bind  thine  hair  5 
Fold  thee  in  thy  vestment  fair — 
And  come  forth  from  thy  despair ! 

Put  aside  those  dreams  of  power, 
That  controlled  thy  sleeping  hour ; 
And  'r.  waking  make  thee  cower. 

Put  away  those  thoughts  of  pain, 
That  involved  thee  in  their  chain, 
Through  long  hours,  that  would  not  *anc. 


196  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIK. 

Strengthened  by  that  vague  unrest— 
That  sits  hag-like  on  thy  breast, 
Still  triumphant,  though  unblessed ! 

Leave  thy  bitter  sense  of  loss ; 
Leave  affection,  proven  dross, 
And  with  courage  bear  thy  cross. 

Spurn  that  madness — memory, 
In  whose  shadow  strong  hearts  lie, 
Panting  for  the  hour  to  die. 

Crush  that  impotence,  regret, 
In  whose  cankered  core  are  met, 
All  the  ills  that  life  beset. 

When  the  soul  is  sick  with  strife ; 
When  the  cup  of  tears  is  rife, 
We  must  live  the  larger  life. 

Come !  I  know  thee  true,  and  strong 
Be  no  more  the  slave  of  wrong, 
Thou  to  nature  dost  belong. 

And  she  calls  thee,  with  that  tongue 

Ever  eloquent  and  young, 

As  when  life  from  chaos  sprung . 

From  the  conflict  of  the  night, 
From  the  inner  war  and  blight, 
Pass  into  the  outer  light. 

Dimly,  like  a  dying  queen, 
Pillowed,  fleecy  clouds  between, 
Doth  the  moon  from  heaven  lean 

All  the  stars  have  shrunk  away, 
Faithless  ministers  were  they, 
Leaving  her  alone  and  grey, 


T?TK   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  397 

With  prophetic  eye,  forlorn, 
To  foresee  the  coming  morn, 
And  the  kingly  heir,  unborn. 

Fresh  as  winds  that  sweep  the  sea, 
Blows  the  breath  of  morning  free, 
Over  hill,  and  vale,  and  lea. 

And  the  crimson  streaks  that  lie 
Low  adown  the  eastern  sky, 
Speak  the  dawning  glory  nigh. 

Harken  to  the  morning  hymn, 
Breaking  from  the  shadows  dim 
Of  each  overhanging  limb ! 

How  the  chorus  wild  and  sweet, 
With  exultant  joy  replete, 
Thrills  us,  to  our  very  feet ! 

And  like  incense  priests  go  swinging 
Through  the  aisles,  sweet  odors  fliugmg, 
While  the  holy  choir  is  singing, 

Doth  the  mingled  hedge-rose  yield, 
To  the  breeze  that  sweeps  the  field, 
All  the  sweets  that  night  had  :>  ed; 

Closely  with  her  wand  of  might, 
Folding  in  each  blossom  bright — 
Separate  impulse  of  delight. 

Insect  voices  in  the  grass, 
Murmur,  as  our  footsteps  pass, 
And,  like  threads  of  woven  glass, 

Doth  Arachne  spread  her  snare. 
Wavering  hi  the  morning  air, 
Gemm'd  with  diamond,  dew-drops  rare. 


198  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEKIK. 

Gaze !  this  heritage  is  thine, — 
All  this  beauty  fair  and  fine, — 
All  this  light  and  joy  divine, 

Are  for  thee,  and  of  thy  being, 
In  thy  soul,  and  for  thy  seeing — 
Thus  ordained  the  All-decreeing. 

Drink!  the  hand  that  pours  for  thew, 
This  pure  draught  of  ecstasy, 
Reaches  from  eternity. 

Thou,  the  finite  child  of  clay, 
In  the  sun's  rejoicing  ray, 
Dost  receive  thy  pledge  of  day. 

As  I  read  over  these  verses  to-day,  the  circumstances  under 
which  they  were  composed  rise  vividly  before  me.  After  that 
restless  night  to  which  I  have  referred,  I  had  risen  at  earliest 
bird-call,  and  erone  out,  my  heart  full  of  the  woes  of  others,  into 
the  morning  twilight.  The  scene,  as  I  have  described  it  in  the 
poem,  appeared  before  me,  even  to  the  desolate  waning  moon. 

I  returned  at  sunrise,  strengthened,  refreshed,  uplifted,  by  that 
brief  communing  with  nature  ;  and,  without  an  effort,  nay,  almost 
as  a  relief,  and  with  scarce  a  correction,  wrote  the  poem.  And  it  is 
dear  to  me  yet,  with  ail  its  imperfections,  for  the  vivid  though  mo- 
mentary power  it  possesses,  to  transfigure  me,  to  make  me  forget 
the  sea  of  sorrow  through  which  I  have  passed  since  then,  and,  for 
the  time,  believe  I  am  still  on  the  further  shore. 

I  am  sitting,  as  I  write,  by  the  great  open  window  in  the  octa- 
gon chamber,  at  Bouverie.  Across  the  emerald  lawn,  dotted 
with  groups  of  shrubbery,  and  broken  here  and  there  with  clumps 
of  low-growing,  flowering  trees,  all  in  profuse  bloom  at  this 
season,  the  magnolia  glaucus,  with  its  broad  pink  blossoms,  the 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEEE.  199 

cucumber-tree,  with  its  large  white  flowers,  the  laurel,  with  its 
exquisite  cups,  resembling  the  finest  Sevres  porcelain,  lined  and 
dotted  with  vermilion,  and  ready  for  a  fairy  festival ;  and  here 
and  there  the  intruding  but  not  unwelcome  elder,  with  its  panniclea 
of  pearl,  fit  for  a  royal  bride  ;  and  the  coarser  dogwood,  wearing 
its  scentless  starlike  mantle  gallantly  of  creamy  white,  beneath 
which  the  May-apple  camp  is  oftenest  pitched,  as  if  pigmy  hosts 
were  on  the  eve  of  battle.  Across  the  velvet  lawn,  and  between 
all  these  intervening  objects,  I  look  into  the  far,  dim,  oak  forest. 
The  tender  green  of  spring  rests  on  the  trees  that  compose  it,  and 
the  sunlight  streams  here  and  there — for  the  day  is  waning — 
through  the  long  arcades  formed  by  their  stately  stems,  and 
roofed  by  their  branches  from  the  sun's  vertical  rays.  The  dark, 
grey  trunks  are  bathed  in  golden  glory,  as  I  gaze,  and  seem,  each 
one,  a  column  of  fire  sustaining  the  nave  of  a  mighty  temple  ;  but 
no  form  of  flying  horseman  is  seen  among  the  green  alleys,  clearly 
defined  against  the  crimson  sky  beyond,  as  I  have  so  often  beheld 
it,  returning  toward  the  close  of  day  to  the  beloved  home,  and 
the  expectant  hearth. 

How  silent  everything  is — how  solitary !  The  birds  come 
tamely  under  the  window  as  I  sit.  The  quiet  deceives  them  into 
confidence  of  then:  own  dominion.  How  changed  this  mournful 
home  of  Bouverie  !  No  stately  lady  treads  its  chambers  now 
with  graceful  and  measured  step,  or  reclines  in  the  great 
cushioned  chair,  work  or  book  in  hand,  or  presides  with  gracious 
courtesy  at  hearth  or  board  !  No  occupant  in  those  great  upper 
chambers  breaks  their  otherwise  unsupportable  dearth,  with  his 
brilliant  yet  mysterious  presence.  No  white-haired  priest  of  God 
comes  from  tune  to  tune,  to  cheer,  to  bless,  to  reanimate  hearts 
faint  and  weary  with  doubt  and  despondency.  Even  the  stately 


200  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEETE. 

servitor  is  gone — Poor  Fabius  J  The  door  opens,  a  form  enters 
as  if  to  remind  me  how  much  of  the  cherished  past  still  remains  to 
me.  Doctor  Quintilian  is  beside  me,  and  in  his  mute  presence 
my  repining  heart  finds  strength  and  consolation. 

Reach  me  thy  kind  and  compassionate  hand,  friend,  guide, 
companion  ;  thou  sole  survivor,  save  the  feeble  woman  who  still 
clings  to  thee  as  her  only  earthly  stay  of  all  that  beloved  blood- 
bound  household  of  Bouverie  ;  and  let  me  read  to  thee  through 
my  bitter  and  blinding  tears  what  I  have  written,  so  that  I  may 
go  on  with  a  lightened  heart  and  lifted  energies  to  the  end  of  thip 
story  of  Alchemy.  Alchemy  that  stayed  not  in  the  laboratory  oi 
the  philosopher  and  the  dreamer  ;  but  stretched  its  potent  wand 
over  wrung  heart,  and  broken  spirit,  bringing  light  out  of  dark- 
ness, and  encouragement  out  of  despair.  The  alchemy  of  affec- 
tion, the  alchemy  of  faith,  having  power  to  allay  anguish,  and 
fortify  irresolution,  to  gild  the  front  of  shame  itself,  and  substitute 
the  ivory  sceptre  of  mercy  for  the  iron  rod  of  justice. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          201 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  HAD  granted  no  permission  to  Everard  Howe  to  write  to  me. 
Yet  it  did  not  greatly  surprise  me  when  Doctor  Quintil  handed 
me  a  letter  in  that  unfamiliar  character  which  I  instantly  divined, 
and  soon  ascertained  to  be  that  of  our  English  acquaintance.  It 
did  surprise  me,  however,  to  note  the  recent  date  of  this  epistle, 
bearing  no  post-mark,  and  evidently  addressed  from  some  near 
point,  and  sent  by  private  hand. 

When  I  had  finished  its  perusal,  I  turned  an  interrogative 
glance  on  Doctor  Quintil.  His  eye  was  on  me,  my  grandmothei 
was  not  present,  and  he  hastened  to  reply  to  my  mute  question 
ing. 

"Everard  Howe  is  at  Croften,"  he  said;  "his  servant 
brought  the  letter,  and  waits  for  the  reply." 

"  He  asks  permission  to  come  to  Bouverie,  Dr.  Quintil  ;  but 
mentions  nothing  of  being  at  Croften.  I  regret  his  precipitation. 
What  shall  be  done  ?"  I  asked,  distressed  and  confused  by  a 
course  of  conduct  I  had  not  for  a  moment  dreamed  he  would 
adopt,  after  my  positive  prohibition. 

"  Your  grandmother  has  decided  to  receive  Mr.  Howe, 
Lilian.  He  has  written  to  her  also,  soliciting  this  privilege,  and 
announcing  himself  as  your  suitor.  She  deems  it  her  duty,  under 
existing  circumstances,  to  break  through  all  preconceived  resolu- 
tions, and  grant  an  interview  to  the  lover  of  her  child." 

"  Lover  !"  The  word  stung  me  ;  I  started  from  it.     "  I  am  so 

sorry,"  I  said,  "  that  he  is  pressing  this  matter  thus  indelicately, 

9* 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEBIE. 

it  seems  to  me,  after  what  passed  between  us.  I  am  not  pre- 
pared"   I  burst  into  tears,  cutting  short  my  own  words. 

Doctor  Quintil  looked  grave,  distressed  even. 

"  One  thing  or  the  other  must  be  done  this  day,"  he  said  ; 
"  honor,  justice,  demand  this  course  ;  either  you  reject  Mr.  Howe 
at  once,  or  receive  him  at  Bouverie." 

He  turned  away  without  waiting  for  my  answer,  and  left  the 
room.  When  I  looked  up,  for  I  had  buried  my  face  in  my 
hands  to  think  over  events,  my  grandmother  stood  before  me. 

"  Lilian,"  she  said,  smiling,  and  extending  her  hands  to  me  ; 
"  I  congratulate  you  !  See  what  a  noble  letter  the  man  that 
asks  your  hand  has  written  to  me  !  Every  line  reveals  a  true  and 
disinterested  soul.  The  first  use  he  makes  of  his  prosperity  is  to 
lay  it  at  your  feet." 

"  Prosperity,  grandmother  I     Is  Col.  De  Courcy  dead  ?" 

"  No  !  Fortune  has  fallen  to  him  in  a  much  more  sad  and  un- 
expected way.  His  uncle,  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life  and  health, 
shortly  to  be  married  too  (which  renders  it  doubly  painful  as  far 
as  he  is  concerned)  is  dead  from  fever,  contracted  in  the  discharge 
of  duty  on  his  estate,  among  his  tenantry — and  Everard  Howe 
inherits  his  fortune  and  his  baronetcy.  Lady  Lilian,  again  I  con 
gratulate  you."  She  stooped  and  kissed  my  brow — I  leaned  or 
her  supporting  bosom  silent  and  overcome,  and  irresolute. 

"What  shall  be  done,  Lilian  ?"  she  said,  at  last.  "  He  asks 
to  come  to  Bouverie  ;  shall  we  not  receive  him  ?" 

"  Oh,  grandmother!  I  do  not  know  what  to  say.  I  am  very 
grateful  to  Everard  Howe  for  thinking  of  me  at  such  a  time,  and 
yet  I  should  so  much  have  preferred  the  delay  I  proposed." 

"  A  very  one-sided  and  unjust  proposition  it  was,  Lilian.  Re- 
consider it,  my  love.  Reflect,  that  you  ask  what  you  would  be 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          208 

by  no  means  willing  to  grant.  A  year  of  uncertainty  to  end, 
perhaps,  in  grievous  disappointment.  Mr.  Howe  is  right.  He 
demands  to  know  his  fate  at  once — he  loves  you,  he  offers  you 
his  hand,  he  is  entitled  to  a  definite  answer.  This  is  just.  Let 
him  come  to  Bouverie,  and  receive  it  here." 

I  looked  up,  I  saw  that  she  was  excited,  and  anxiously  await- 
ing my  reply. 

"  Let  him  come,  grandmother,  if  you  think  it  best.  Perhaps, 
after  all,  you  will  not  like  Mr.  Howe  when  you  see  him,  and 
I  shall  be  guided  in  this  matter,"  I  said,  firmly,  "  principally  by 
your  advice." 

She  rose,  she  touched  the  bell,  Bianca  came,  and  was  dis- 
patched for  Doctor  Quintil. 

"  Lilian  has  decided  to  receive  Sir  Everard  Howe,"  she  said  ; 

"  had  you  not  better  order  a  horse  to  be  got  ready  to  send  by  the 

returning  messenger  to  Croften  for  him,  while  I  write  my  note  ?" 

He  looked   well  pleased  ;    "I   will   send   Violet   Fane,"   he 

replied  ;  "  her  pace  suits  a  young  man  better  than  Cedric's  steady, 

quiet  gait,  or  perhaps  being  a  sailor  " 

"  Not  Violet  Fane,  Doctor  Quintil,  I  interrupted  ;  do  not 
send  her.  Cedric — or,  or  my  pony  would  do  as  well.  I  think  the 
mare  is  a  little  lame  !" 

"  I  saw  her  this  morning,  Lilian  ;  she  has  entirely  gotten  over 
her  lameness." 

"  Wild,  then,  from  disuse  ;  not  safe,  perhaps  ;  do  not  send 
Violet  Fane,"  I  urged. 

"  You  tremble  for  the  precious  life  and  limb  of  Everard 
Howe,  who,  being  a  sailor,  is  naturally  a  poor  equestrian.  I  un- 
derstand you,  Puss  ;  I  will  send  Cedric." 

"Any  other   beast,"     I  murmured,  with    sick  disgust;    "it 


204  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

matters  not  to  me  ;  any,  except  Jasper's  horse  ;  not  that,  cer- 
tainly." 

No  one  heard  these  muttered  words,  I  knew,  yet  I  suppose 
there  was  something  wild  and  strange  in  my  manner,  or  my  face, 
for  I  met  my  grandmother's  compassionate  eyes,  when  I  looked 
up  from  my  reverie.  The  closing  door  had  warned  me  some 
minutes  before  of  Doctor  Quintil's  departure. 

"I  see  how  it  is,  Lilian,"  she  said,  shaking  her  head  gently. 
"  You  do  not  love  Mr.  Howe  as  he  loves  you,  and  your  con- 
science is  disquieted." 

"  Oh,  grandmother  !  not  as  I  could  have  loved,  do  I  love  Mr. 
Howe,  not  as  I  could  still  love  another — who  must  be  nameless 
now." 

"  Hush,  Lilian  !"  She  was  pale  as  she  approached  me,  "  not 
another  word  nor  thought,  if — if  you  honor  me — yourself — all  of  us. 

"  My  child  !  my  child  1  Cast  away  forever  the  vexed,  the 
unreal  dream  of  passionate  affection.  It  is  but  a  name.  Respect, 
esteem,  attachment,  mutual  confidence  ;  these  are  the  pillars  of 
the  sacred  union  betwixt  man  and  woman,  that  sustain  the  temple 
unshaken  to  the  end.  Look  at  me,"  she  proceeded,  "  alone,  in 
my  age,  widowed,  desolate,  accustomed  to  misery  until  I  hug  it 
as  my  peculiar  property,  and  almost  learn  to  love  it  as  my  sole 
possession.  Look  at  me  and  be  warned  1 

"  Had  I  married  a  man  I  loved  moderately — for  to  such  a  one  I 
was  once  plighted — I  might  have  been  happy  now,  surrounded 
by  friends,  affluent,  powerful,  respected.  What  remains  of  that 
idolatry  which  almost  baffled  reason,  and  which  held  me  for  so 
many  years  in  bonds  stricter  than  those  of  superstition  itself? 
Ashes,  Lilian,  ashes  1  The  fire  has  burned  down,  the  very  cindera 
are  extinct — the  cold,  grey  ashes  are  all  that  love  has  left." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEEIE.  205 

"  And  yet,  grandmother,"  I  rejoined,  "  I  see  you  devoted,  with 
no  common  devotion,  to  all  that  remains  to  you  of  the  past." 

"  Devoted  !  Aye,  in  one  sense — one  only — pity,  duty  ;  these 
are  potent  words  with  me  ;  but  where  do  you  discern  emotion  ?" 

"  Grandmother,  I  am  so  young  1"  I  said,  waiving  a  reply  ; 
"  the  world  is  all  before  me.  Mr.  Howe  is  my  first  acquaintance. 
When  I  go  more  into  society,  I  shall  meet  with  others  " — I  was 
Reading  my  own  cause  earnestly,  when  she  cut  me  short. 

"Lilian,"  she  interrupted,  "you  cannot  go  into  society,  as 
other  young  girls  go,  with  a  mother's  or  sister's  protection  ;  nay, 
you  cannot  go  at  all,  save  by  snatches,  at  watering-places  and 
hotels,  and  casually  in  cities,  you  may  find  yourself  occasionally, 
but  never  in  a  position  to  know,  to  judge  men  better  than  you 
have  known  and  judged  Everard  Howe.  Besides,  Lilian,  there  is  a 
cloud  " — she  buried  her  face  in  her  hands  for  a  moment.  "  Colonel 
De  Courcy  is  very  generous  to  overlook  this,"  she  said,  looking 
up  ;  "  very  disinterested  to  seek  to  draw  you  from  beneath  ita 
shadow.  I  recognize  his  magnanimity,  although  he  has  extended 
so  little  personal  courtesy  to  me.  Let  this  pass,  however,  in  the 
current  of  greater  considerations.  He  is  a  proud  man,  and  he 
values  highly  every  drop  of  kindred  blood.  He  desires  the  pros- 
perity of  all  connected  with  him ;  and  when  he  sent  Everard 
Howe  to  make  your  acquaintance,  and  weigh  your  merits,  and 
renew  to  you  his  own  rejected  proffer,  it  was  with  a  view  of  con' 
centrating  in  Taunton  Tower  all  that  was  left  of  his  almost  ex- 
tinguished race.  He  foresaw  this  youthful  attachment.  He 
hoped  for  a  happy  result.  I  honor  Colonel  De  Courcy  both  as 
prophet  and  patriarch." 

"  Grandmother,  it  is  you  who  are  generous  ;  you  are  willing  to 
give  me  up — for  that  ocean  between  us  will  flow  like  eternity 


206  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

almost — to  secure  my  happiness,  without  a  thought  of  your  own. 
But,  fortunately,  Everard  Howe  is  independent  of  his  uncle  now, 
and,  if  I  marry  him,  I  make  one  condition — he  must  consent  to 
live  here  near  you." 

"No,  no,  Lilian,"  she  said  impetuously,  "not  for, the  world  ! 
Your  husband's  country,  kindred,  fortunes,  must  be  yours.  For- 
get that  you  ever  set  foot  on  this  soil — never  speak  of  it. 
Banish  the  remembrance — it  will  prove  fatal  to  your  peace." 

"  Grandmother,  when  I  forget  Bouverie,  may  God  forget  me  !" 

"  I  spoke  too  hastily,"  she  said,  folding  me  in  her  arms.  "  I 
did  not  mean  that  you  should  forget  Bouverie  or  its  inmates. 
But  keep  the  recollection  to  yourself.  In  England,  among  the 
proud,  the  cold,  the  gay — what  need  to  speak  of  us  ?  Such 
reference  could  only  injure  you,  and  cause  investigation  that  must 
result  in  agony.  Letters,  messages,  occasional  visits  on  your 
part,  will  keep  our  memory  green.  Let  it  be  thus ;  and  now,  dear 
child,  retire  to  your  own  chamber — be  composed,  be  firm,  and  in 
a  few  hours  he  will  be  here  ;  and  then  you  will  choose  your  des- 
tiny, if  such  a  thing  be  indeed  permitted." 

As  I  turned  to  leave  the  room  in  obedience  to  her  commands, 
I  was  arrested  by  her  voice  : 

"  Lilian,"  she  said,  "  do  not  forget,  in  any  future  or  immediate 
conference,  the  oath  that  binds  you  ;  not  even  to  your  husband 
must  be  revealed  the  existence  of  our  mystery,  lest  hearing,  he 
might  recoil  from — not  betray  us — I  do  not  fear  that.  Do  not 
forget, "she  continued,  approaching  me,  "that  you  possessed  your- 
self of  this  secret  in  the  beginning,  and  that  by  every  law  of  honor 
you  are  doubly  bound  to  keep  it.  That  it  is  not  yours,  but 
another's,  over  which  you  have  no  control,  and  that  it  involves 
the  lives  of  more  than  one." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEBIE.  207 

"  I  do  hope,"  I  made  answer,  "  that  I  shall  be  strengthened  to 
keep  it  through  my  whole  life.  For  the  present,  I  can  assure 
you  solemnly.  For  the  future,  I  can  only  trust  and  pray." 

"  Enough,"  she  said  ;  "  I  can  ask  nothing  more  than  such  a 
determination,  such  an  inclination  ;  I  know  that  heaven  will 
strengthen  you.  Be  patient,  be  discreet,  be  courageous,  and 
accept,"  she  added,  as  we  parted  on  the  threshold,  "the  goods 
the  gods  provide." 

I  think  I  see  her  still,  as  she  spoke  these  words,  her  head  turned 
toward  me  over  her  graceful  shoulder  ;  her  lifted  finger,  her 
curling  lip,  her  beaming  eye,  her  flushing  cheek,  are  still  before  me  ; 
and  the  tone  of  the  pleasant,  prophetic  voice  still  rings  in  my  ear. 

I  can  scarcely  realize,  so  vivid  is  their  memory,  that  all  these 
things  are  shadows  now,  and  that  never  again,  while  earthly  life 
remains  to  me,  shall  the  expressive  face  appear  to  my  vision,  save 
in  the  mirror  of  the  past. 

Revolving  that  strange  problem  called  existence,  I  can  see 
nothing  that  points  so  surely  to  its  future  solution  as  the  power 
that  dwells  in  affection  to  survive  its  objects,  else  so  cruel  an:l 
bitter  a  mockery.  In  this  capacity  of  our  nature,  we  hold  the 
clew  of  our  future  life,  which  blindly,  patiently,  we  must  cling  to 
and  follow,  content,  as  Theseus  was,  to  bide  the  time  when  we 
shall  come  into  the  presence  of  the  Minotaur  : 

"  They  sin  who  tell  us  love  can  die. 
With  life,  all  other  passions  fly, 

All  others  are  but  vanity. 
In  heaven  ambition  cannot  dwell, 
Nor  avarice  in  the  vaults  of  hell, 
Earthly  these  passions  of  the  earth, 
They  perish  where  they  have  their  birth, 

But  love  is  indestructible." 


208  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

I  bless  you,  Southey,  if  only  for  these  lines — comfort  and 
strength  go  with  them.  Eternal  peace  be  thine  ! 

Beyond  all  thy  splendid  dreams  of  Indian  story,  thy  grand 
heroic  legends,  thy  pictures  of  land  and  wave,  I  hold  these  simple 
lines  embalming  a  sentiment  more  dear  to  suffering  humanity  than 
any  other  reason  or  religion  has  to  offer. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          209 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHEN  I  had  completed  my  toilet,  and  taken  needful  refresh- 
ment, and  surveyed  myself  with  such  satisfaction  as  circumstances 
would  permit  me  to  do  in  my  Psyche -glass,  I  went  to  the  draw- 
ing-room, to  await  the  coming  of  our  expected  guest. 

I  had  put  on  a  favorite  dress  of  mine,  blue  silk  with  lace 
ruffles — just  the  color  of  my  eyes,  Bianca  said — a  Marie  Louise 
blue,  I  think  they  called  it,  with  black  trimmings  (these  it  seemed 
coincided  with  her  comparison,  too,  as  far  as  brows  and  lashes 
went).  The  whole  harmonized  well  with  my  fair  and  clear  com- 
plexion ;  I  had  let  down  my  curls  and  shaken  them  out,  until  the 
gold  threads  stood  distinctly  from  the  chestnut ;  and  though 
there  was  little  beauty  in  my  face,  I  thought  I  looked  as  well  as 
it  was  possible  for  me  to  look  on  that  occasion. 

My  grandmother  praised  me  as  I  entered,  and  stood  in  the 
flashing  firelight  before  her,  until  the  crimson  deepened  in  my 
cheek,  and  a  new  light  came  to  niy  features.  It  was  so  rare  a  thing 
for  her  to  offer  compliment.  Gazing  on  her  silently  in  turn,  I 
thought  I  had  never  seen  her  look  so  handsome  as  in  that  artistic 
light  and  shadow,  formed  by  the  glowing  wood  fire,  and  dressed 
in  the  well-preserved  black  velvet,  with  its  rich  trimmings  of 
Mechlin  lace,  and  pointed  bodice,  caught  by  a  cameo  clasp 

When  at  last  Everard  Howe  arrived,  and  the  additional  light 
of  lamps  brought  out  her  still  remarkable  beauty,  I  was  indeed 
proud  of,  and  pleased  with  the  impression  she  evidently  created  on 
hia  mind.  She  received  him  with  a  cordial  courtesy,  so  natural, 


210  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

so  frank,  yet  so  refined,  that  it  placed  him  instantly  at  ease 
Yet  I,  who  knew  him  well,  saw  that  she  was  studying  him  even 
while  she  disarmed  him  by  her  manners  and  that  she  was  content 
at  last  with  the  result  of  her  apparently  careless  observation,  but 
real  scrutiny. 

The  conversation  flowed  in  pleasant  channels.  Dr.  Quintil  led 
the  way,  with  a  playfulness  and  grace  I  had  never  remarked  in 
him  before  ;  and  Everard  Howe  earned  golden  opinions  from  all 
by  his  cheerfulness,  modesty,  and  unpretending  good  breeding. 

He  was  placed  in  a  trying  situation  certainly,  but  he  made  the 
best  of  it,  and  acquitted  himself  well  ;  and  as  the  evening  wore 
on,  and  I  perceived  the  natural  affinity  that  seemed  to  exist  be- 
tween him  and  the  friends  I  reverenced,  I  felt  more  and  more 
drawn  to  him,  and  more  willing  than  before  to  trust  my  bark  of 
life  in  his  guiding  hands. 

Seated  by  his  side,  listening  to  his  voice,  meeting  his  clear  and 
honest  gaze,  I  had  a  sense  of  happiness  that  had  long  been  a 
stranger  to  me.  Peace  seemed  to  come  and  nestle  beside  rue. 
Confidence  grew  up,  as  if  by  magic,  between  us.  There  was  but 
one  thing  wanting,  and  that  would  come  in  tune — aye,  that  would 
come. 

I  will  not  linger  on  this  visit.  I  do  not  like  to  revert  to  it 
even  in  memory.  Whenever  I  have  acted  against  my  instincts, 
and  for  reason's  sake  alone,  as  I  did  then,  I  have  lived  to  regret 
it.  Everard  Howe  remained  with  us  but  one  day  and  night,  and 
when  he  went  away  he  carried  with  him  my  plighted  troth,  to  be 
redeemed  at  the  altar  in  one  year.  But  for  the  flashing  ring  on 
my  finger,  I  should  have  thought  it  all  a  dream — the  coming,  the 
wooing,  the  betrothal,  the  departure.  As  it  was,  the  whole  mat- 
ter bore  very  little  reality  to  me  ;  yet  the  indelible  scar  remains. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  211 

A  correspondence  was  agreed  upon  between  us,  irregular  on  my 
part  it  must  needs  be,  he  knew,  for  he  was  to  go  around  the  world 
in  that  interval  of  absence,  and  my  letters  must  often  miss  their 
destination,  while  he  moved  steadily  on. 

At  the  termination  of  this  cruise,  he  meant  to  resign  his  pro- 
fession, long  distasteful  to  him,  and  settle  on  his  fine  estate  in  the 
southern  part  of  England.  He  painted  its  beauties  to  me  with 
enthusiasm,  he  pictured  his  home  as  it  would  be  shared  by  a  be- 
loved sister  and  idolized  wife.  A  king  upon  his  throne  seemed 
no  object  of  envy  to  his  simple  tastes,  his  quiet  ambition,  content 
with  love  and  competence. 

Politics,  literature,  fashion,  what  did  he  care  for  these  ?  What 
for  the  opinion  of  the  world,  or  the  voice  of  society  ?  He 
talked  thus  to  me.  We  would  live  for  each  other,  he  said,  and 
throw  all  else  aside  as  unworthy  of  consideration,  content  with 
mediocrity. 

Unconsciously,  but  deep  within  my  soul,  was  raised  an  idol  that 
his  words  first  fully  unveiled,  destined,  alas,  like  all  other  idols  of 
my  making,  to  be  broken  at  the  altar  in  the  end,  but  new  and 
firmly  poised  on  its  pedestal  at  that  period.  The  love  of  fame 
was  molded  in  my  very  being  I  shivered  at  the  voice  of  thia 
Iconoclast.  Then  first  I  recoiled  from  the  chasm  that  yawned 
between  us,  then  first  I  felt  that  congeniality  was  better  worth 
than  affection  itself. 

Yet,  as  I  have  said,  I  respected,  esteemed,  admired  him  even, 
had  felt  for  him  in  our  close  but  brief  intercourse,  a  growing  at- 
tachment, that  must,  I  believed,  ripen  ultimately  into  something 
more.  Perhaps  it  was  best  for  me,  impulsive,  erratic,  as  I  often 
was.  to  be  linked  to  a  nature  like  his.  I  reasoned  thus  :  had  I 
not  seen  a  fiery  horse  placed  side  by  side  with  one  of  tamer  char- 


212  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUYEBIE. 

acter,  so  that  the  docile  beast  might  chasten  the  ardor  of  the 
impetuous  charger  ?  Was  not  the  experiment  successful — satisfac- 
tory, they  called  it  ? 

Was  not  this  very  creature  now,  driven  in  harness  under  heavy 
loads,  having  chafed  down  his  original  ardor,  guided  easily  by  the 
poor  idiot  Pat  McCormick  himself,  broken-spirited,  down-crested, 
hollow-eyed,  mickering  even  for  his  coarse  companion. 

Child  of  genius — "veiled  spirit  of  fire" — be  thou  man  or  woman, 
from  such  fate  mayest  thou  be  shielded  even  by  the  grave  ! 
There  are  lonely  paths  on  earth,  leading  to  lofty  mountain 
heights,  narrow  and  difficult  of  access,  which  thou  mayest  tread  ; 
choose  thou  these,  rather  than  the  broad  beaten  road,  with  thy 
coarser  yoke-fellow.  » 

{Married  not  mated Jf — common  expression  of  tragic  significance  1 
Oh,  the  long,  long/weary  way  that  such  beings  must  travel !  oh, 
the  blank  beginning  !  oh,  the  dreary  end  ! 

Why  was  there  not  another  clause  added  to  the  litany,  forming 
a  sadder  climax  even  than  the  "  sudden  death  "  from  which  men 
pray  to  be  delivered?  "Prom  lightning  and  tempest,"  from 
blindness,  madness,  and  unequal  marriages — I  would  interpolate — 
"  good  Lord,  deh'ver  us  1" 

Everard  Howe  was  gone  !  The  chain  was  forged,  and  I  was 
free  no  longer.  Yet  every  link  was  gilt  with  hope,  trust,  ex- 
pectancy. The  dull  rust  of  the  iron  was  removed,  but  the  weight 
remained.  Nay,  the  very  clank  of  the  fetters  resounded  in  my 
soul,  and  still  I  persuaded  myself  that  I  was  happy  1 

Had  I  followed  my  inclinations,  I  should  have  communicated 
my  new  fortune  to  my  grandfather  at  once.  I  believed  that 
prospects  such  as  mine  seemed  to  be  would  cheer  and  gratify  him, 
and  that  he  would  enter  heartily  into  my  hopes  and  plans  for  the 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.          Sl3 

future — I  gave  him  credit  for  at  least  thus  much  of  disinterested- 
ness. I  felt,  moreover,  that,  as  the  head  of  his  household,  he  had 
a  right  to  know  the  steps  meditated  by  each  member  thereof,  even 
if  circumstances  had  taken  from  him  the  power  of  guiding  or  con- 
trolling them. 

But  my  grandmother  reasoned  differently,  and  I  was  guided  by 
her  wishes. 

"  He  will  think  only  of  the  loss  he  must  sustain  in  your  society," 
she  said.  "  Long  immurement  is  certainly  a  friend  to  selfishness. 
Isolation,  even,  favors  this  tendency,  as  I  know  in  my  own  case. 
A  man  would  be  more  than  mortal,  who,  thrown  on  a  desolate 
island  by  shipwreck,  with  a  congenial  companion,  could  see  him 
depart  with  satisfaction,  even  though  to  return  to  home  and  hap- 
piness. I  fear  for  the  consequences  of  such  a  communication — 
especially  now  that  your  grandfather's  health  and  nervous  system 
have  both  been  so  violently  shaken  by  recent  illness.  It  will  not 
occasion  him  more  pain  to  part  with  you  when  the  tune  comes, 
than  to  anticipate  the  parting.  At  all  events,  Lilian,  we  shall 
defer  the  announcement  of  your  marriage  until  spring,  when  I  hope 
he  may  be  strengthened  to  bear  it  better  than  now."  And  thus  it 
TOS  determined. 


214:  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

IT  was  about  this  time  that  Smith,  the  gardener,  began  hia 
course  of  systematic  imposition  and  persecution.  I  had  before 
mentioned  his  distant  position  from  the  mansion,  and  the  inter- 
vention of  Pat  McCormick  as  messenger  and  carrier  between  his 
cottage  and  Bouverie.  Dr.  Quintil  and  Jasper  superintended,  and 
even  aided,  in  the  dressing  of  the  flower-plots  around  the  house, 
rather  than  summon  Smith  ;  and,  under  such  supervision,  Patrick 
had  acquired  considerable  facility  in  the  use  of  garden  tools. 

Perhaps  undue  care  to  prevent  his  presence  about  the  lawn  had 
first  aroused  Smith's  suspicions  ;  or  poor  Pat  himself  might,  in 
some  unguarded  moment,  when  the  terror  of  his  dame  was  for- 
gotten, and  his  errand  to  the  gardener's  house  was  of  a  nature  to 
detain  him  longer  than  usual,  have  dropped,  and  had  drawn  from 
him  skillfully,  bits  of  information,  which,  gathered  up  and  put 
together,  had  furnished  a  clew  to  our  dearly  cherished  secret. 

The  circumstance  of  occasional  lights,  as  seen  from  the  crevices 
of  the  jalousied  windows,  during  my  grandfather's  illness,  in 
rooms  long  supposed  to  be  abandoned,  and  even  cut  oil  from  the 
rest  of  the  house — light  only  introduced  on  the  sudden  emergency 
of  hemorrhage,  when  life  itself  was  at  stake,  for  before  this  our 
patient  had  been  nursed  in  darkness — had  confirmed  the  floating 
suspicions  long  entertained  by  Smith,  and  determined  him  to  use 
such  knowledge  as  he  had  obtained  for  his  own  pecuniary  advan- 
tage. 

His  demand  for  advance  of  wages  was  made  in  the  confident 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          215 

tone  of  a  man  certain  of  not  being  refused  ;  and,  at  first,  rather 
than  hazard  an  explanation,  or  provoke  his  resentment,  my  grand- 
mother complied  with  all  of  his  requisitions. 

Smith  had  lived  fifteen  years  at  Bouverie,  and  shown  himself 
capable  and  diligent  until  lately.  Habits  of  intemperance  had 
recently  enervated  his  physical  powers,  and  rendered  him  averse 
to  labor  ;  and,  when  remonstrated  with  on  one  or  two  occasions, 
he  had  exhibited  a  dogged  insolence,  that,  but  for  circumstances, 
would  have  occasioned  his  immediate  discharge.  Mrs.  Bouverie 
had  preferred  to  forbear  as  long  as  possible,  rather  than  introduce 
a  stranger  on  her  domain  ;  yet  her  mind  was  almost  made  up  to 
discharge  him,  when  fortune  gave  him  the  advantage,  aud  turned 
the  tables  against  her.  She  felt  obliged  now  not  only  to  keep 
him  and  his  wife  in  her  employ,  worthless  as  both  were  fast  be- 
coming, but  to  suffer  an  insolence  of  demeanor  that  was  both  new 
and  revolting,  and  which  was  alone  held  in  check  by  her  own 
dignity  and  the  power  of  her  presence. 

Spoken  impertinence  Smith  knew  would  be  punished  on  the 
spot ;  but  all  that  manner  and  neglect  of  duty  could  do  to  annoy 
and  irritate,  was  essayed  in  turn  by  this  unprincipled  pair.  The 
remainder  of  our  servants  were  compelled  to  secrecy  not  only  by 
their  interests  and  attachment  for  us,  but  by  the  power  of  their 
church,  through  Bishop  Clare. 

Smith  and  his  wife  were  English  Protestants,  at  war  with  the 
religion  of  Bouverie,  as  well  as  with  American  habits  and  institu- 
tions. It  was  a  positive  triumph  to  them,  to  possess  the  power 
to  injure  or  annoy  any  citizen  of  the  hated  country,  to  which 
they  had  fled  from  poverty  and  contempt  at  home,  and  whose 
very  abundance  they  resented  now,  as  a  reflection  on  their  own 
early  necessities. 


216  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

They  were  of  that  class  of  foreigners,  who  bring  the  Ishmad 
spirit  with  them  from  abroad,  and  who  never  identify  themselves 
with  the  land  of  their  adoption,  hoarding  their  earnings  to  the 
last  cent,  and  hoping  at  some  future  tune  to  amass  enough,  either 
by  thrift  or  dishonesty,  to  return  to  their  idolized  country,  and 
fawn  at  the  feet  that  kicked  them  off  in  the  beginning. 

This  Spaniel-like  patriotism  makes  bad  emigrants,  and  fills  our 
polls  with  corruption,  our  homes  with  traitors.  "  I  would  be 
willing,"  said  a  noble  Scot  to  me,  who  had  cast  his  lot  among  us 
in  the  true  spirit  of  love  and  brotherhood,  "to  lay  down  all 
political  privileges  of  my  own,  could  I  see  the  raw  foreigners  ex- 
cluded from  the  polls.  No  man  has  a  right  to  a  voice  in  a*, 
country  who  does  not  feel  that  it  is  his  own." 

And  to  how  few  of  our  emigrants  does  this  feeling  come,  even 
witli  the  sacred  claims  of  home  and  hearth  !  The  love  of  country 
is  implanted  in  our  very  natures,  no  one  would  wish  such  holy  in- 
stinct less,  but  fidelity  to  a  new  cause  is  no  less  noble  than  affec- 
tion for  an  old. 

How  base  would  be  that  man,  who,  received  in  his  fretful 
childhood  into  the  arms  of  a  tender  foster-mother,  because  his 
own  was  hard  or  careless,  or  overburdened,  would  in  his  health 
and  strength  obey  only  the  blind  instincts  of  his  nature,  and  re- 
turn ingratitude  for  disinterested  care  !  How  similar  is  his  case, 
who,  emerging  from  the  serfdom  of  Europe,  grows  free,  and 
strong,  and  vigorous  in  this  genial  land,  and  yet  refuses  to  uphold 
our  best  institutions,  or  to  acknowledge  his  weighty  obligations  in 
the  only  way  open  to  him.  No  wonder  that  the  foreign  vote 
jars  so  harshly  on  the  sensitive  American  ear,  or  that  the  derision 
and  censure  of  those  who  drain  our  life-blood  is  so  bitter,  so  in- 
supportable. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUYEKIE.  217 

My  grandfather  had  placed  this  gardener  at  Bouverie  before 
his  last  visit  to  Europe,  and  he  had  done  well  during  his  ab- 
sence. 

The  English  name  and  lineage,  and  the  peculiar  manner  of  my 
grandfather,  had  made  an  impression  on  Smith,  who  cringed  of 
course  to  the  upper  class  of  his  own  land,  though  recognizing  no 
distinctions  in  America,  save  those  which  money  established. 

He  had  never  suspected  before  now,  as  far  as  we  knew,  that 
my  grandfather  survived,  nor  had  he  uttered  such  a  suspicion 
even  yet.  He  was  among  the  household  on  the  day  of  the  burial 
(false  in  one  sense,  true  in  another),  which  shut  Erastus  Bouverie 
away  from  the  face  of  man  forever  ;  and  as  a  proof  of  his  cre- 
dulity on  that  occasion,  Smith  had  shed  tears,  the  only  one  who 
did  so,  since  to  all  the  rest  present  was  known  the  secret  of  his 
concealment. 

Dr.  Moore  had  remarked  this  natural  impulse  to  my  grand- 
mother at  the  tune,  as  a  proof  that  her  caution  had  been  effectual. 
She  told  this  to  me  in  connection  with  his  own  remarkable  pre- 
sence of  mind  and  forethought  on  that  trying  emergency,  without 
which  my  grandfather  must  have  perished.  He,  her  life-long 
physician,  was  the  only  person,  except  Bishop  Clare,  outside  of 
Bouverie',  who  had  ever  had  any  insight  into  that  mystery,  to 
guard  which  she  had  devoted  her  life,  and  he  had  died  without 
revealing  it.  Ten  years  had  passed  since  my  grandfather  went 
into  the  shadow  of  those  upper  chambers,  and  she  had  been 
gradually  encouraged  to  hope  that  his  whole  natural  life  might 
now  be  suffered  to  flow  on  in  their  deep  tranquillity. 

How  startling  was  now  the  conviction  that  a  reckless  hand  held 
a  clew  to  her  secret.  How  humiliating  must  the  consequences  be 
in  any  case,  even  if  exposure  were  avoided  ! 

10 


218  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEE1E. 

Smith  had  told  Bianca  that  he  felt  convinced  there  was  some 
one  hidden  at  Bouveries  and  that  his  wife  had  seen  the  taper  ap- 
pear and  disappear,  as  if  gliding  from  room  to  room,  through 
the  Venetian  shutters  of  the  upper  floor,  more  than  once,  during 
the  month  of  August. 

"  It's  a  queer  ghost  that  carries  a  candle,"  he  had  said  in 
answer  to  her  absurd  attempts  to  convince  him  that  the  rooms 
were  haunted — an  attempt  that  only  injured  her  cause.  "  I'm 
risking  my  own  character  to  stay  in  any  house  where  such  con- 
cealment is  practised  ;  for  who  knows  but  I  shall  be  accused  of 
conspiracy  when  everything  comes  out?  Who  knows  but  the 
law  may  reach  me  yet  ?  This  here  mean  American  law,  so  differ- 
ent from  ours  !  There  is  only  one  way  to  cover  the  risk  I'm  run- 
ning. Mrs.  Bouverie  understands  that  too  well  to  gainsay  any 
reasonable  request  of  mine,  though  it  cuts  her  comb  considerably. 
Well,  well !  pride  will  have  a  fall.  Colonel  Bouverie  was  a 
proof  of  that  to  begin  with,  and  now  comes  her  turn  !" 

"  Her  turn  !"  repeated  Bianca.  "  Do  you  think,  Master 
Smith,  that  she  has  waited  thus  long  for  her  turn — she,  a  grand 
lady,  born  and  bred  ?  Do  you  suppose  she  would  be  stowed 
away  in  a  corner,  if  her  heart  was  not  broken  long  ago  ?  As  if 
the  likes  of  you  and  yours  could  cut  the  comb  of  Madame  Bou- 
verie, the  splendidest  lady  that  ever  was  in  Washington,  and 
given  up  to  be." 

"  Oh,  that  is  your  Spanish  brag,  Bianca  !  Lord  knows,  she  is 
quiet  enough  now — no  visitors,  even — and  poor  enough,  if  Bou- 
verie be  all  she  possesses,  as  they  say  it  is.  The  truth  is,  I'm 
tired  of  the  poor  worn  land  ;  tired  of  subsoiling,  and  trenching, 
and  manuring.  I  have  a  wish  to  try  my  hand  at  a  public  iu 
good  old  England  again,  and  leave  you  damocrat?  (thus  he  pro- 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  219 

nounced  this  word  of  many  definitions)  for  there's  never  a  born 
lady  or  gentleman  among  you." 

"  You  are  a  poor  judge  of  such  articles,  I  take  it,"  retorted 
Bianca,  briskly.  "  In  your  own  country  a  gentleman  would  not 
wipe  Ms  feet  on  you,  or  your  squint-eyed  wife  either,  and  here, 
we  have  kept  you  at  your  distance,  you  and  yours  ;  yes,  and  we 
will  continue  to  do  so  in  spite  of  your  threats  and  discoveries," 
she  added,  snapping  her  fingers  spitefully  at  him  as  he  turned 
away. 

"  And  good  reasons  of  your  own  you've  had  for  it.  I 
don't  doubt,"  he  retorted,  with  a  low  chuckle,  as  he  stuffed  his 
great  hands  in  his  pockets  and  walked  away  slowly,  shaking  his 
head  menacingly  from  time  to  time,  and-  muttering,  as  far  as  he 
could  be  seen  or  heard. 

"  Bianca,  you  were  wrong  to  excite  him  thus,"  I  remonstrated 
after  she  had  recounted  this  whole  scene  to  me,  the  end  of  which 
I  had  witnessed.  "  What  would  my  grandmother  think  of  your 
indiscretion  ?  Reflect,  this  is  no  matter  of  pride  or  feeling  now, 
but  one  of  personal  safety  to  him,  to  all  of  us." 

"  I  hope  I  shall  never  lay  eyes  on  his  great  half-acre  freckled 
face  again  while  I  live,"  she  passionately  rejoined.  "  I  have  a 
natural  disgust  to  him,  as  strong  as  death.  I  hate  his  small, 
green  eyes,  so  dim  and  cold,  and  his  large  potato-nose,  and  his 
great  gummy  mouth,  with  its  yellow  fangs  and  doggish  laugh, 
and  his  stiff  red  hair  ;  and  as  for  his  wife,  that  squint  of  hers  is  a 
true  sign  of  her  own  spirit,  crooked  and  evil,  and  mean." 

"  Be  pacified,  Bianca  ;  let  them  pass.  Think  only  of  the 
welfare  of  those  you  love,  and  injure  by  this  over  zeal." 

"She  to  call  me  a  'plumped-out  prune,'  when  my  face 
swelled  last  week  with  the  toothache  !  A  hit  at  my  dark  com 


220  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE. 

plexion,  I  suppose  !  Better  to  be  dark  and  smooth,  than  fair  and 
rough-rinded  as  a  nutmeg  melon.  I'll  let  her  know  I  have 
always  been  a  better  favored  woman  than  she  could  ever  have 
dared  to  pretend  to  be  !" 

Not  long  after  this  conversation  Smith  was  discovered  acci- 
dentally by  Doctor  Quintil  walking  round  the  premises  late  at 
night,  and  warned,  in  spite  of  his  pretext,  something  about  the 
security  of  the  sheep,  or  the  propinquity  of  peddlers— that  he 
would  be  dealt  with  harshly,  should  he  appear  again  at  irregular 
hours,  inside  of  the  inclosure,  immediately  around  the  mansion. 

He  was  reminded  that  the  sheep  were  in  a  distant  pasture,  the 
peddlers  no  concern  of  his,  and  that  there  were  enough  men  within 
the  walls  of  Bouverie  to  defend  it  without  employing  spies  to  re- 
connoitre. Doctor  Quintil  was  relating  this  at  the  breakfast- 
table,  in  the  presence  of  Fabius,  when  certain  signs  of  distress  from 
that  taciturn  individual  denoted  his  desire  to  speak,  a  movement 
so  unusual  on  his  part,  as  always  to  excite  both  curiosity  and  respect. 

There  was  immediate  silence,  and  a  general  direction  of  eyes 
toward  Fabius,  who,  speckless  and  upright  in  his  white  damask 
apron,  and  with  his  silver  salver  clasped  closely  to  his  side, 
unclosed  his  oracular  lips,  and  spoke  to  this  effect  : 

"  I  only  wanted  to  say  on  this  occasion,  that  Bouverie  has  been 
watched  for  two  months,  night  and  day,  like  a  besieged  fort. 
Smith  is  afraid  some  one  will  escape,  and  he  has  brought  his  wife's 
brother  from  Croften  to  stand  guard,  and  help  him  spy." 

"  Is  it  possible!"  said  Doctor  Quintil,  springing  hastily  up  ; 
"  I  must  put  an  end  to  this  in  the  most  summary  way." 

"  Quiutil — not  for  the  world  !"  My  grandmother's  distress 
would  have  arrested  his  movements,  even  had  not  her  trembling 
hand  been  laid  upon  his  arm.  "  The  man  drinks,  the  matter  will 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEEIE.  221 

exhaust  itself — lie  will  get  tired,  forget,  or  come  to  a  sense  of  Ms 
truest  interest  1  What  would  he  gain  by  a  disclosure  ?  Nothing 
but  infamy  and  poverty  ;  now,  he  is  well  provided  for  without 
labor  ;  for  I  am  paying  his  brother-in-law  good  wages  to  assist 
him,  and  Smith  throws  all  the  work  on  him.  After  all,  this  may 
be  a  mere  notion  on  the  part  of  Fabius,"  she  added,  as  the  old 
man  left  the  room  silently,  exhausted  probably  by  his  oratorical 
effort,  or  dissatisfied  by  her  view  of  the  subject.  "  Silence  and 
forbearance  are  best  for  us  in  any  case." 

"  You  are  half  right,  madam,  I  believe,"  he  said,  sitting  down 
and  resting  his  hands  on  his  knees,  "  but  it  is  hard  to  bear  such 
insolence.  I  have  never  hi  my  lifie  been  so  tempted  to  do  violence 
as  hi  this  instance.  The  wretch  ;  the  low,  ungrateful,  presump- 
tuous foreigner." 

And  in  this  word  all  reproach  was  concentrated,  according  to 
Dr.  Quintil's  mode  of  thinking.  Here  it  was  a  crime,  but  under 
any  circumstances,  even  the  most  favorable,  a  misfortune  he  con- 
ceived not  to  be  born  American. 

He  regarded  Europe,  or  pretended  to,  as  a  theatre  sustained 
for  the  peculiar  amusement  and  edification  of  the  people  of  the 
United  States,  the  actors  of  which  were  greatly  dependent  on 
transatlantic  applause  or  disapprobation,  otherwise  he  considered 
monarchies  as  useless  institutions,  and,  even  admitting  the  amuse- 
ment and  interest  their  fluctuations  occasioned  in  the  American 
mind,  matters  that  would  not  pay  in  the  long  run.  "  People  get 
weary  of  the  melo-drama,"  he  would  say.  "  Attention  slacks  at 
last.  Would  not  those  French,  Hungarians,  Greeks,  Poles,  et 
cetera,  do  better  to  attend  a  little  more  to  their  agricultural  and 
commercial  interest,  and  think  less  of  our  diversion  ?" 

Dr.  Quintil  was  one  of  those  thorough  humorists — not  wits,  be 


222  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

had  not  the  least  pretension  to  anything  half  so  subtile  as  wit,  and 
the  two  scarce  ever  go  together — in  whose  conversation  it  is  almost 
impossible  to  separate  earnestness  and  satire.  His  was  not  bit- 
ing, keen,  sarcastic  irony,  such  as  most  usually  passes  by  that 
tf.tle,  but  a  pensive,  affectionate,  satiric  mood,  if  such  a  thing  can 
';e,  running  through  his  whole  nature,  like  the  veins  in  Sienna 
jiarble. 

In  glancing  back  over  these  pages,  I  find  that  I  have  nowhere 
attempted  a  description  of  that  Christian  gentleman,  Paul  Silas 
Quintilian.  Distinct  as  he  is  hi  my  own  mind,  I  have  given  at 
least  but  a  shadowy  impression  of  him,  I  fear,  to  those  that  fol- 
lowed my  relations. 

His  character  had  no  salient  points  on  which  I  could  seize  to 
set  forth  its  perfection.  Nor  do  I  possess  the  skill,  I  fear,  to 
handle  its  harmonious  details,  so  as  to  impress  the  whole  as  a  pic- 
ture on  the  minds  of  others. 

I  will  endeavor,  however,  in  another  chapter,  exclusively  his 
own,  to  describe  as  closely  as  I  can,  what  appeared  to  me  his 
distinctive  attributes 


THE  HOUSEHOLE  OF  BOUVERJE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

AT  the  time  of  which  I  write,  Dr.  Quintil,  as  we  called  him  by 
way  of  abbreviation,  was  about  forty  years  of  age — seven  or 
eight  years  younger  than  my  more  youthful-looking  grandmother. 
He  came  of  an  ancient  Dutch  family,  long  settled  and  honorably 
known  in  Pennsylvania,  and  was  connected  by  marriage,  though 
very  remotely,  with  the  house  of  Bouverie.  The  name  of  Quin- 
tilian  was  not  without  distinction  even  in  Holland,  and  among  its 
old  archives  might  be  found  an  account  of  a  graphic  historian  of 
the  times,  who  bore  it  by  royal  permission,  as  a  reward  for  his 
accurate  translations  of  the  works  of  the  well-known  Latin 
writer,  so  entitled,  and  in  exchange  for  a  less  euphonious 
surname. 

Whether  this  literary  pedant  were  or  were  not  the  head  of  the 
family,  I  never  distinctly  ascertained,  but  from  the  peculiarity  of 
the  name,  I  have  supposed  such  a  beginning  probable,  and  even 
reasonable. 

Paul  Quintilian  had  been,  with  his  brother,  the  ward  of 
Erastus  Bouverie  ;  and  when  his  guardian  married,  the  boy  of 
eight  or  nine  was  brought  home,  to  make  a  member  of  his  family. 
Luther,  the  elder  brother,  was  already  pursuing  his  studies  in 
Leyden,  where  afterward  he  married,  and  continued  through  a 
number  of  years  to  reside. 

Paul  had  been  motherless,  even  before  his  remembrance.  His 
father  he  had  never  known,  and  he  had  gone  from  the  indiffer- 


224  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE. 

ence  of  a  selfish  and  distant  relative,  to  the  harsher  indifference 
of  school,  where  just  in  proportion  as  his  mind  enlarged  his 
heart  closed  up.  Yet  it  was  only  kept  the  fresher  by  its  entire 
abnegation  of  those  around  him.  Like  some  great  cool  cistern, 
reserved  for  summer  use,  not  sullied  and  dried  up  as  the  exposed 
hearts  of  motherless  children  so  often  are,  by  disappointments 
and  repelled  affection. 

He  had  no  idea  that  such  a  necessity  existed  at  all  as  tender 
attachment,  and  was  content  and  self-supported  in  the  placid 
beauty  of  his  own  nature,  and  the  respect  which,  child  as  he  was, 
his  peculiar  excellence  commanded  from  others,  when  suddenly  he 
was  brought  to  the  presence  of  the  young,  gay,  beautiful  girl  his 
guardian  had  married,  herself  almost  a  child. 

Solitary  herself,  as  far  as  ties  of  blood  were  concerned,  and 
married  to  an  uncongenial  though  idolized  husband,  the  boy 
seemed  a  precious  gift  to  her,  and  she  devoted  herself  to  him 
from  the  fu'st  with  all  a  sister's  interest.  Perhaps  it  had  been 
better  for  his  happiness,  had  his  feelings  responded  less  powerfully 
to  her  affection,  or  had  this  less  sufficed  to  fill  and  satisfy  his 
soul. 

lie  sought  no  deeper  sentiment  than  her  constant,  unwearying 
friendship  afforded  him.  His  mild  and  peaceful  nature  craved  no 
excitement,  and  reposed  gratefully  on  the  consistency  and  energy 
of  her  character. 

Yet  it  was  not  thus,  it  seemed  to  me,  he  should  have  contented 
himself — not  on  the  hearthstone  of  another  man  his  place  should 
have  been  chosen.  So  that  the  shadow  that  darkened  it,  left  his 
life  also  in  sombre  indistinctness. 

He  owed  it  to  himself,  to  others,  to  stand  forth  in  the  world, 
and  do  his  part. 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEEIE.  225 

As  husband,  father — how  happy,  how  valuable  his  life  had 
been  !  As  citizen,  physician — how  useful,  how  prosperous  ! 

That  calm,  thoughtful  mind,  patient  and  law-abiding,  so 
proud,  so  manly,  yet  so  full  of  meek  humility  (for  these  things  go 
oftenest  together)  those  large  faculties — that  frank  and  natural 
manner — that  perfect  balance  of  thought  and  feeling — these 
attributes  must  have  brought  about  their  inevitable  results,  and 
Paul  Quintilian  have  stood  forth  one  of  the  pillars  of  any  com- 
munity with  which  he  had  linked  his  life,  honored,  confiding, 
loved  I 

How  fared  it  now  ?  It  cannot  be  said  that  his  "  life  was  a 
failure  ;"  that  mournful  truth,  so  applicable  to  two-thirds  of  man- 
kind, did  not  apply  to  him,  because  he  had  never  attempted  to 
make  it  a  success,  or  to  mold  it  at  all  separately. 

He  had  simply  merged  his  existence  with  all  its  surroundings 
into  that  of  others.  He  had  voluntarily  sacrificed  his  identity. 

It  was  too  late  to  retrieve  it  now  1  Its  clear  wine  had  mixed 
too  thoroughly  with  our  stagnant  waters,  ever  to  be  separated 
again  from  the  turbid  element. 

For  him  there  was  no  change  possible.  His  moderate  means, 
which  might,  under  other  circumstances,  have  been  the  nucleus  of 
fortune,  remained  intact;  but  moderate  still,  of  course,  and  were 
used  chiefly  as  a  resource  for  others.  His  talents  were  at  a  stand- 
still. Hs  1  tad  no  power,  living  as  he  did,  to  increase  the  one  or 
develop  the  other.  He  had  even  lost  the  wish  for  distinction 
which  urged  him  to  such  honorable  efforts  in  his  youth,  and 
looked  back  upon  it  now  with  melancholy  derision  as  a  boyish 
dream,  a  fallacy  ! 

Yet  no  one  could  notice  him  closely,  and  not  recognize  in  him 
many  of  the  elements  of  success.  Nature  had  gifted  him 

JO* 


226  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

evidently  with  power  to  shine  and  persevere  even  with  the  fore- 
most. 

His  face  was  a  very  fine  one,  regularly  yet  roughly  hewn,  as 
if  from  granite — a  true  Teutonic  face,  of  the  noblest  type.  But 
for  the  lafrge,  steady,  grey  eyes — luminous  with  a  green  light,  that 
seemed  to  come  irom  some  foreign  source,  as  when  you  follow  a 
vertical  sunbeam  down  into  the  calm  sea-waters,  you  feel  that  it 
is  in  it,  but  not  of  it,  and  yet  enjoy  all  the  more  the  blended, 
softened  radiance — but  for  these  clear,  yet  melancholy  orbs,  his 
aspect  might  have  been  heavy,  and  even  harsh  in  its  serious 
expression.  His  smile  was  sweet,  yet  peculiar,  with  its  linger- 
ing, almost  ironical  mournfulness.  His  teeth  sound,  but  short, 
and  shutting  justly  together,  so  as  to  throw  slightly  forward  the 
lower  jaw  when  in  repose,  a  defect  in  any  countenance. 

His  complexion  was  of  an  opaque  fairness — his  form  ungraceful, 
yet  not  exactly  stout,  as  the  word  goes,  was  slightly  above  the 
middle  height  ;  he  carried  himself  carelessly,  and  beyond  the  ne- 
cessities of  a  scrupulous  cleanliness,  paid  little  attention  to  the 
niceties  of  dress. 

His  hair  was  the  only  beauty  he  possessed,  if,  indeed,  the  word 
does  not  sink  into  insignificance  when  applied  in  any  shape  to  such 
a  man  as  he  was — so  far  at  least  beyond  its  commonly  received 
import. 

Yet  this  man,  so  full  of  capacity,  and  taste,  and  feeling,  had 
been  but  a  spectator  in  life  at  the  best,  could  never  be  even 
this  again,  shut  away  as  he  was  from  all  outward  influences 
now. 

When,  on  one  occasion,  I  asked  in  my  girlish  thirst  for  adven- 
ture, for  his  early  history,  with  its  young  romance,  its  early 
aspirations,  its  inevitable  love  passages — he  seemed  puzzled  and 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  227 

amused  at  the  very  idea  of  being  connected  in  my  imagination 
with  things  like  these. 

He  answered  me  in  the  words  of  Canning's  poor  knife- 
grinder  : 

"  Story — Lord  bless  you,  I  have  none  to  tell,  sir  I"  asd  I  gazed 
in  surprise  and  pity  on  that  anomaly  to  me,  a  man  without  a 
history. 

Peter  Schlemihl  did  not  seem  more  unfortunate  or  peculiar, 
after  he  had  lost  his  shadow,  than  did  that  home  hero  of  ourc, 
Doctor  Paul  Quintilian,  wnen  this  prestige  was  destroyed. 

Gentle  and  noble  man,  whose  place  is  still  by  my  hearthstone, 
sole  companion  of  my  otherwise  desolate  life-journey — known  only 
to  thy  Maker  in  all  the  fullness  of  thy  self-devotion,  and  greater 
in  his  sight,  I  well  believe,  that  those  that  Fame  heralds,  and 
ambition  rewards. — Father,  guardian,  friend,  I  cherish  still  the 
belief,  that  in  the  world  to  come,  the  world  of  peace  and  perma- 
nence, and  compensation,  the  garment  of  humility  that  clothes 
thee  here  shall  be  transfigured  into  robes  of  princely  splendor,  and 
the  shining  crown  of  the  martyr  rest  on  thy  loyal  head  forever. 


BOOK  FOURTH. 


"Some  souls  lose  all  things  but  their  lore  of  beauty 
And  by  that  love  they  are  redeemable." 

FESTUS 


*  A  deep  occult  philosopher." 

HUDIBKAS. 


,  let  us  gaze,  even  till  the  sense  Is  full, 
ITpou  the  rich  creation." 

BOWUB. 


w.t-w 

:  n  K 


BOOK    FOURTH. 

CHAPTER  I. 

I  NEED  not  say  that  no  communication  on  the  subject  of  Smith's 
threats  and  annoyances  was  made  to  my  grandfather.  It  would 
have  been  cruel  and  useless  to  disturb  his  life  with  these  matters, 
until  prudence  and  necessity  should  make  it  advisable  to  remove 
him  from  the  vicinity  of  danger  ;  for  well  we  knew  that  until  a 
crisis  of  this  sort  arrived,  no  representations  of  ours  would  induce 
him  to  leave  Bouverie. 

Persuasions  had  been  employed  to  this  effect,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, by  Dr.  Moore,  by  Bishop  Clare,  by  my  grandmother  her- 
self. A  residence  in  Europe  had  been  insisted  on  as  the  only 
safeguard  against  detection,  but  with  a  consistent  yet  unreason- 
able resolution,  he  had  put  the  idea  aside  from  the  beginning,  as 
one  to  which  death  itself  was  preferable,  and  clung  to  the  deep 
immurement,  which  was  the  only  alternative  presented. 

He  had,  up  to  the  time  of  his  imprisonment  in  Russia,  been  a 
man  of  active  habits,  mixing  much  in  society,  although  never 
making  himself  a  part  of  it  ;  gracious  and  gay  and  reserved  at 
once,  brilliant  yet  cold,  courteous  rather  than  genial,  a  man  with 
whom  no  other  man  had  ever  been  sufficiently  at  ease  to  lay  his 
hand  upon  his  arm,  or  say  in  introducing  him,  "  this  is  my  friend, 
Mr.  Bouverie."  He  had  no  friends,  save  those  of  the  stamp  of 
mere  admirers  and  partisans.  He  laid  open  his  heart  to  no  man; 

m 


232  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEREB. 

he  asked  no  man's  confidence.  His  very  affections  seem  to  have 
borne  the  upas  power,  of  paralyzing  and  injuring  the  lives  of 
those  on  whom  they  were  conferred,  for  he  required  that  every 
other  feeling  should  be  laid  aside  in  the  breasts  of  those  he 
loved,  save  devotion  to  himself;  and  whosoever  exacts  this  tribute 
— one  that  God  even  does  not  demand  from  his  creatures — de- 
serves to  be  considered  a  tyrant  and  soul-killer. 

For  a  man  of  this  subtile,  dominant  temperament,  to  whom 
intellectual  intercourse,  high  converse,  attrition  of  mind  with 
mind,  and  the  homage  of  men,  had  been  necessary  as  food  and 
air,  how  depressing  must  this  isolation,  this  confinement  have 
been  !  Yet  he  never  complained  of  it,  seldom  manifested  depres- 
sion, busied  himself  constantly  with  the  details  of  his  chemical 
experiments,  which,  since  the  late  arrangement  of  the  laboratory 
above  my  chamber,  he  carried  on  more  to  his  satisfaction  than 
before,  or  with  his  writings,  which  he  supposed  would  bring  him 
posthumous  fame,  or  with  books,  which  he  read  with  a  rapidity 
that  might  literally  be  called  "  stereotyping  with  the  eye,"  and 
enjoyed  with  an  almost  sensuous  pleasure,  as  a  greedy  feeder 
seems  to  revel  in  his  food. 

Sermons,  novels,  poetry,  history,  essays,  travels,  memoirs, 
.nagazmes,  newspapers,  nothing  came  amiss  to  him.  Piles  of 
books  laid  on  his  table  would  disappear,  tossed  under  it  as  he 
read  them  successively,  with  a  rapidity  that  baffles  belief. 
"  Clear  away  this  rubbish,  Fabius,"  he  would  say,  "let  me  never 
see  it  again,"  and  the  books  would  be  transferred  to  the  library 
in  the  wing  ;  for  having  once  enjoyed  them,  he  loathed  the  sight 
of  them  afterward,  it  seemed  to  me.  It  was  only  a  few  early 
favorites  in  literature  that  he  ever  perused  more  than  once,  or 
could  bear  to  meet  again.  Among  these  were  Shelley  and 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.          233 

Coleridge,  and  the  works  of  Walter  Scott.  For  Shakspeare  he 
never  cared.  Some  prestige  seemed  to  attach  to  these,  and  give 
them,  in  his  mind,  strange  interest  and  significance.  He  called 
Shelley  the  Poet's  Bible,  for  he  insisted  that  the  germ  of  all 
poetic  thought,  all  texts  of  beauty  that  others  have  worked  out, 
lay  embalmed  in  his  pages. 

Yet  the  works  he  read  so  rapidly,  clung  to  his  memory  with 
wonderful  tenacity.  His  mind  seemed,  like  the  crucibles  he  used 
in  bis  experiments,  to  retain  the  essence  and  reject  the  dross  of 
all  that  it  received.  Exquisite  arrangement !  by  which  Nature 
signifies  her  master  intellects,  and  assists  that  progress  which  is 
bearing  us  on  to  a  sure  yet  far  perfection  ! 

With  a  quick  insight  into  character — which  has  seemed  to  me 
in  any  case  to  be  almost  a  sixth  sense,  yet  which  never  arrives  at 
the  dignity  of  reasoning,  being  wholly  instinctive,  and  as  such,  a 
part  of  physical  rather  than  mental  construction,  I  conceive — 
I  saw  the  peculiarity  of  my  grandfather's  temperament  at  once. 
I  saw  that  he  was  sensitive,  exacting,  devoted  to  his  own,  even  in 
proportion  as  he  was  cold,  careless,  cruel  perhaps  to  those  he  con- 
sidered aliens.  No  bond  of  universal  brotherhood  had  knit  its 
silken  links  about  his  heart.  Hooks  of  steel  had  grappled  him 
to  a  few.  Barriers  of  ice  had  divided  him  from  the  many.  His 
mind  was  a  rapid,  rushing  river,  bearing  all  before  it,  all  feeble 
obstructions  of  conscience,  of  justice,  of  humanity,  for  such  he 
considered  these. 

Woe,  woe  for  that  mortal  whose  intellect  outgrows  his  moral 
sense,  until  the  one  stands  dwarfed  in  the  growing  shadow  of  the 
other.  A  being  thus  constituted  is  "  no  less  a  monster,"  some 
one  has  said,  "  than  the  big-headed  child  of  the  fair,  or  the  weak- 
kneed  giant  of  the  circus."  Saturn  eating  his  own  children  is  a 


234  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

type  of  men  of  this  stamp.  Humanity  recoils  from  them  when 
once  they  unveil  their  remorseless  egotism,  their  sublimated 
sophistry.  Yoltaire,  Rousseau,  Napoleon,  Robespierre,  were 
monsters  of  this  class,  scarcely  less  hideous  to  me  than  Caligula 
or  Heliogabalus. 

Yet  how  attractive  until  the  Mokanna  veil  is  lifted,  is  its  glitter- 
ing light;  and  the  soft  breathings  of  the  voice  beneath,  and  the 
graceful,  sinuous  motions  of  the  draped  and  stately  form  it  covers, 
are — oh,  how  mystic,  how  bewildering  !  It  becomes  a  question 
here,  how  much  of  this  is  perishable,  how  much  immortal.  Can 
evil  be  perpetuated  in  accordance  with  our  conception  of  a  just, 
a  purifying  God  !  At  what  point  does  soul  take  issue  with  intel- 
lect ?  And  if  they  be  the  same,  then,  then  indeed  is  hell  a 
necessity,  not  an  invention  of  the  alarmist  or  the  melancholy 
fanatic. 

But  I  cannot  believe  this,  I  dare  not.  I  must  grasp  the  con- 
viction that  our  Creator  has  made  nothing  in  vain,  and  that 
through  time  unmarked  by  years,  in  dim  futurity,  the  erring  spirit 
shall  struggle  on,  through  what  agony,  what  obstacles  it  matters 
little,  so  that  the  final  triumph  be  achieved,  and  the  glorious 
essence,  freed  from  all  impurity,  be  ransomed,  rescued,  saved  I 

And  looking  upon  immortality  in  this  light,  it  must  come 
to  pass  that  all  intellectual  aids  to  our  meaner  passions  must 
perish  with  them,  and  that  a  mere  spark  may  emerge  at  last  from 
all  the  brilliant  fire  of  genius  directed  to  unworthy  ends.  Those 
that  build  altars  to  circumstance  or  expediency,  need  not  murmur 
if  a  whirlwind  overthrows  them,  and  scatters  their  offerings  even 
in  this  life,  much  less  must  they  expect  to  find  their  remembrance 
perpetuated  in  heaven  as  accepted  sacrifice. 

I  do  not  remember  to  have  received  any  enjoyment  so  purely 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          235 

intellectual  from  the  companionship  of  any  other  being  as  that 
of  my  grandfather  afforded  me,  yet  it  never  for  one  moment  as- 
sumed a  spiritual  type  (I  separate  these  things)  ;  "  earthy,  and 
of  the  earth,"  was  he  even  in  his  wonderful  knowledge,  his  bril- 
liant eloquence,  his  startling  sophistry — logic,  as  he  called  it — 
his  estimate  of  man  and  his  Creator. 

Had  I  been  less  securely  poised  in  my  religious  convictions,  in  my 
poetic  instincts,  in  my  habitual  reverence  for  duty,  this  companion- 
ship might  have  been  fatal  to  my  happiness.  As  it  was,  it  only 
agitated  new  springs  of  thought,  forced  my  mind  into  active  use, 
and  taught  me  self-defence,  and  even  persuasive  remonstrance,  so 
that  I  felt  myself  strengthened  and  impelled  to  come  out  of  my 
narrow  limits,  and  set  my  lance  in  rest  for  truth  and  God  ! 

He  seemed  half  amused,  half  touched,  by  my  earnest  zeal.  It 
was  something  new  to  him — this  solemn  enthusiasm  on  points  the 
young  so  seldom  care  for,  or  insist  upon.  My  very  opposition  to 
his  views,  and  the  way  in  which  I  set  this  forth,  seemed  to  please 
him,  and  at  first  he  took  pains  to  draw  me  out,  in  a  half  mocking 
way.  But,  when  he  learned  to  love  me  better,  this  manner  was 
laid  aside,  in  a  great  degree,  and  he  came  to  look  with  forbearance 
and  respect  on  almost  all  of  my  opinions,  however  opposed  to 
his  own. 

I  have  spoken  before  of  the  difficulty  of  my  position  with  re- 
gard to  my  grand-parents  ;  of  their  strange  vigilance,  and  even 
jealousy,  of  any  preponderating  ascendency  over  me  on  the  part 
of  either  ;  and  of  the  suspicious  and  capricious  nature  of  my 
grandfather's  feelings,  as  exhibited  heretofore  toward  every  one 
chosen  as  an  object  of  affection  by  his  wife.  A  conversation  held 
between  us  on  this  subject,  may  have  had  its  effect  in  lulling  that 
bitter  qualm  of  jealous  distrust  with  which  he  watched  every 


236  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

growing  partiality  on  her  part,  and  as  his  heart  warmed  to  me, 
every  manifestation  of  preference  on  mine. 

He  was  speaking  of  his  lonely  lot-,  rather  lightly  than  seriously, 
one  day,  calling  himself,  as  he  often  did,  "  King  Jehoachirn,"  and 
wondering  whether  any  real  "Evil  Merodach"  would  ever  come 
and  take  him  out  of  prison.  I  could  not  bear  that  mocking,  de- 
risive way  in  which  he  treated,  what  I  knew  he  really  felt  to  be, 
a  great  calamity,  and  I  said  : 

"At  all  events,  grandfather,  you  have  devoted  friends,  who 
share  your  captivity,  and  minister  to  your  comfort." 

"  Devoted  1"  he  repeated,  throwing  back  his  head  with  a  scoff- 
ing laugh  that  ended  in  a  groan  ;  "  child,  child,  you  see  externals 
only.  Who  is  devoted  to  me  ?  You  dream  !" 

"  My  grandmother,"  I  timidly  rejoined  ;  "  she  is  evidently  de- 
voted to  you  ;  and  Dr.  Quintil  even  seems  so,  and  " — I  could  not 
add  what  was  in  my  heart ;  I  feared  he  might  believe  such  expres- 
sion of  feeling  a  mere  profession  on  my  part ;  so  I  hesitated,  and 
he  waited  vainly  for  the  rest,  which  the  glance  of  his  eye  told  me 
that  he  had  surmised  or  anticipated. 

"  Lilian,  you  mean  well,  I  know,"  he  said  ;  "  but  you  are  out 
of  your  depth,  my  love,  when  you  try  to  interpret  the  feelings  of 
Camilla  Bouverie  toward  any  one — most  of  all  toward  me,  her 
husband.  Believe  me,  there  is  no  viper  that  crawls  under  her  old 
stone  gate  that  she  would  not  sooner  cherish  in  her  bosom.  You 
have  heard  how,  in  old  days,  people  set  up  idols  of  stone,  and 
worshipped  them,  and  laid  before  them  sacrifices  of  blood,  and 
treasure,  and  frankincense  !  They  were  not  more  mad  than  I 
have  been  in  my  idolatry — not  more  unsuccessful  ?  She  never 
loved  me,  though  she  thought  she  did,  for  truth  is  her  element, 
after  all — her  native  one,  I  mean.  I  terrified  her  from  the  first ; 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          237 

she  had  not  your  capacity  for  understanding  me,  and  allowing  for 
my  peculiarities — not  your  breadth  of  character,  Lilian.  She 
shrank  from  me  long  before  she  confessed  it  to  herself ;  she 
shrinks  from  me  openly  now — you  see  that,  Lilian,  notwithstand- 
ing this  most  dutiful  show  of  devotion  ;  and  her  heart  lies  buried 
in  a  bloody  grave  !"  He  muttered  the  last  words.  "  So  do  not 
speak  to  me  again,  my  child,  of  such  affection  as  finds  its  root  in 
pity,  and  the  past ;  but  know  that  one  of  the  darkest  mysteries 
of  feeling  lies  in  this,  that  one  may  love,  and  get  only  loathing  in 
return.  Is  not  that  a  horrible  condition  of  things,  Lilian  ?" 

He  turned  to  me  with  startling  quickness,  as  he  asked  the  ques- 
tion, and  grasped  my  arm.  "  But  she  loves  you  very  tenderly,  I 
suppose,  and  gives  you  many  assurances  of  this,  I  doubt  not  ?"  He 
added,  without  waiting  for  my  reply,  "  is  it  not  so  ?  Speak,  Lilian, 
I  have  an  earnest  wish  to  know  the  exact  state  of  things  between 
you." 

"  She  has  requested  me,  more  than  once,  not  to  love  her,"  I  re- 
plied, "  assuring  me  that  she  had  no  love  to  give  me  in  return." 

"And  yet  you  do  love  her  very  dearly,  I  suppose,  feeling  that 
she  cannot  be  sincere  in  making  such  a  request  ?"  He  hesitated. 
"  Her  remarks  have  made  no  impression  on  your  attachment  for 
her?  This  is  unshaken?  How  is  it,  Lilian?"  He  shook  my 
arm  slightly  yet  impatiently,  still  keeping  his  watchful,  glittering 
eye  upon  my  face. 

"  One  does  not  usually  give  love  without  return,"  I  answered, 
while  my  heart  smote  me  for  my  duplicity  ;  but  I  did  believe  at 
the  time  that  I  had  discovered  his  mania,  and  treated  him  accord- 
ingly. "  My  feelings  toward  my  grandmother  are  very  dutiful, 
but  not  such  as  you  inspire  me  with,  dear  grandfather." 

He  turned  away  well  pleased,  and  yet  hi  silence.     I  had  spoken 


238  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE. 

the  truth,  yet  I  felt  the  whole  falseness  of  my  position,  forced 
upon  me,  as  it  was,  by  circumstances.  The  spirit-  of  equivocation 
and  compromise  were  not  mine  by  nature.  It  cost  me  dear  to 
make  such  sacrifice  of  frankness  and  outspoken  honesty  as  lay 
beneath  those  truthful  words  of  mine. 

"  Can  it  be  possible,"  he  said,  "  that  you  come  here  in  a  frame 
of  mind  that  permits  you  to  love  and  honor  me  ?  Have  they 
given  you  no  coat  of  mail  against  my  influence  before  sending  you 
here,  in  the  shape  of  pious  warnings,  exhortation,  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing  !  Am  I  to  understand  you  thus,  Lilian  ?  Speak — 
and  speak  the  simple  truth — as  which  have  they  represented  me 
to  you,  madman  or  villain  ?" 

"  Neither,  grandfather,  I  do  assure  you,"  I  replied,  looking  him 
steadily  in  the  eye.  He  believed  me,  evidently — he  always  be- 
lieved me,  for,  with  all  his  faults,  he  had  confidence  in  the  exist- 
ence of  truth  as  an  abstract  quality — a  weakness,  perhaps,  pecu- 
liar to  some  organizations — even  to  his  own. 

"•This  is  what  they  call,  in  Christian  parlance,  '  heaping  red- 
hot  coals  on  an  enemy's  head  ;'  what  a  noble  motive  for  forbear- 
ance, to  be  sure  !  That  old  St.  Paul  of  theirs  was  an  apt  tor- 
turer ;  how  well  he  knew  the  secret  of  revenge — better  than  an 
Indian  squaw,  eh,  Lilian  ?  His  nature  would  come  out,  though, 
even  in  his  sanctity.  He  could  not  forget  the  pleasure  that  early 
frolic  of  his  afforded  him,  when  he  and  some  other  Jewish  boys 
went  out  and  stoned  St.  Stephen  to  death,  one  fine  morning." 

"  Oh,  grandfather,  he  repented  of  that." 

"  Repented  1"  he  echoed  ;  "  repented  !  as  if  such  a  thing  cculd 
be  1"  He  rose  and  walked  the  room,  with  a  curling  lip  end 
downcast  eyes.  "I  cor^e,"  said  Jesus  Christ,  "to  call  not  the 
righteous,  but  sinners  to  repentance." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  239 

The  sacred  declaration  seemed  to  drop  from  him  involuntarily. 

"  Comforting  words  are  these,  dear  grandfather." 

"  Impossible  words,  Lilian,  to  some  natures  ;  I,  for  one,  am  so 
constituted,  that  I  cannot  understand  them.  The  past  is  irrecover- 
able— it  cannot  be  wiped  out." 

"  Atonement,  grandfather,  there  is  another  grand  holy  word, 
most  comforting,  most  merciful  ;  embracing  all  requisitions  of  the 
past  and  present,  repentance  even  !" 

"  Yes,  a  very  grand  word,  indeed,  atonement ;"  and  he  rolled 
it  out  like  an  organ.  "  Truly,  it  sounds  well  I  It  is  strange  the 
French  have  no  such  word  as  that — characteristic  though  of  their 
independent  levity  !  '  Expier  !'  it  does  not  mean  the  same  thing 
at  all ;  we  have '  expiate,'  to  render  that — a  different  sense  entirely. 
A  man  may  '  expiate'  his  offences  by  a  term  of  imprisonment ; 
out  he  does  not  '  atone'  for  them  thus.  I  agree  with  you,  Lilian, 
you  have  good  taste.  It  is  a  grand  word." 

"  Oh,  grandfather,  it  is  not  as  a  matter  of  taste,  I  regard  the 
word.  Think  of  the  promise — think  of  Christ  crucified." 

He  waved  his  hand  and  turned  away  in  silence.  When  I 
looked  at  him  again  he  was  standing  before  his  book-shelves, 
turning  over  the  leaves  of  an  illuminated  Coleridge. 

"  Iiilian,"  he  said  ;  "  I  have  tried  vainly  to  analyze  the  nature 
or  Quintil's  feelings  to  me — poor  Quintil !  he  is  a  good  fellow,  a 
vase  that  runs  over  with  generous  wine  ;  but  I  hate  unnatural 
sentiments  even  if  directed  to  my  own  advantage,  and  there  does 
seem  to  be  a  sort  of  moral  obliquity  about  his  feelings  for  me 
after  all.  I  think  I  have  caught  a  clew  now — however,  the  merest 
thread  though  to  the  general  warp — in  these  lines  of  Schiller,  in 
his  grand  plays  of  the  '  Piccolomini,'  and  '  Death  of  Wallenstein,' 
through  his  mouthpiece,  the  English  Coleridge.  Hear  what  h« 


240  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

says  :  These  are  the  words  of  Max  Piccolomini — you  must  read 
the  translation,  Lilian — to  the  great  Duke  Wallenstein.  He 
loved  him  once  ;  but  had  lost  faith  in  him  now.  And  he  read 
with  his  exquisite  undertones,  the  following  passages  : 

"  '  Oh,  God  of  heavens,  what  a  change  is  here ! 
Beseems  it  me  to  offer  such  persuasion 
To  thee,  who,  like  the  fixed  star  of  the  pole 
Wert  all  I  gazed  on,  in  life's  trackless  ocean ! 
Oh !  what  a  rent  thou  makest  in  my  heart ! 
The  ingrained  instinct  of  old  reverence, 
The  holy  habit  of  obediency, 
Must  I  pluck  live  asunder  from  thy  name.'  " 

As  he  gave  the  last  line  he  grasped  his  breast  as  if  he  felt  the 
plucking  fingers  of  pain — then  continued  to  read,  after  an  inter- 
val, pacing  the  room  slowly  as  he  did  so,  still  bearing  the  book 
lying  open  on  the  palm  of  his  left  hand,  still  pressing  his  right 
hand  laid  over  his  heart. 

"  '  Nay,  do  not  turn  thy  countenance  upon  me, 
It  always  was  as  a  God  looking  on  me, 
Duke  Walleustein.     Its  power  has  not  departed, 
The  senses  still  are  in  thy  bonds,  although, 
Bleeding,  the  soul  hath  freed  herself.' 

"  Still  more  !  Alas  I  alas,  Lilian."     He  paused,  and  read 
exquisite  pathos,  shaking  his  head  slowly  as  he  began — 

"  'Thou  canst  not  end  in  this !     It  would  reduce 
All  human  creatures  to  disloyalty 
Against  the  nobleness  of  their  own  natures  ; 
'Twill  justify  the  vulgar  misbelief, 
Which  holdeth  nothing  noble  in  free  will, 
And  trusts  itself  to  impotence  alone, 
Made  powerful  only  in  an  unseen  power.' 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

"  That  last  line  is  very  fine,  Lilian,"  marking  it  with  his  long, 
lithe  forefinger.  "It  contains  the  whole  theory  of  fate — the  addled 
theory  1  and  it  is  in  words  like  these  that  Paul  Quintilian,  had 
he  the  poetic  faculty,  instead  of  the  enduring  one,  would  address 
himself  to  me,"  shutting  the  book  suddenly,  "  Erastus  Bouverie." 

I  was  quite  silent,  affected  in  spite  of  myself,  though  he  made 
so  light  of  it  all ;  for  he  had  laid  the  book  aside,  and  was  feeding 
Merodach  when  I  cleared  away  the  tears  that  dimmed  my  eyes, 
and  surveyed  him  again. 

"  Ah,  here  comes  Fabius  with  my  dinner,  doubly  welcome  to- 
day, since  '  Evil '  has  dined  so  heartily.  My  appetite  wakes  with 
sympathy — '  L'appetit  vient  en  mangeant,'  you  know,  Lilian  ; 
come,  dine  with  me.  Here  are  Fontainebleau  grapes,  and 
Vergalou  pears." 

"  No,  grandfather,  they  will  expect  me  downstairs  ;  another 
time,  I  will  remain  ;  farewell  now,  until  to-morrow." 

II  Farewell,  Lily,  and  hearken  ;  when  you  come  again  put  on 
the  little  blue  dress  with  the  lace  ruffles.     It  suits  my  fancy  and 
your  style  of  face  ;  and  let  your  curls  drop  again.     I  do  not  like 
this  severe-braided  hair.     Give  me — 

" '  Tresses  uuconfined, 

Wooed  by  each  Egean  wind.' 

. 

"  There  it  goes  again,  Lilian.     It  is  the  curse  of  memory  to  be 
obliged  to  speak  in  other  men's  jKords  half  the  tune." 
I  laughed  and^-teft  him. 


S42  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

DURING  all  this  time,  Bishop  Clare  had  come  and  gone  with 
periodical  regularity,  to  and  from  Bquverie.  He  was  of  course 
our  confidant  in  the  matter  of  my  engagement ;  and  if  ever  he 
recalled  the  strange  intimations  he  had  made  to  me  with  regard 
to  Jasper's  feelings,  no  evidence  of  such  memory  was  given  by  any 
allusion  or  expression  of  his  now. 

There  were  times,  indeed,  when  turning  suddenly  to  him  with 
my  habitual  impulse,  I  found  his  eyes  fixed  on  me  with  a  half- 
pitying,  half-conjecturing  gaze  ;  tunes,  when  something  seemed  to 
falter  on  his  tongue,  suppressed  before  uttered,  and  replaced  by 
words  of  different  signification.  But  to  these  symptoms  of  un- 
easiness on  his  part,  I  attached  little  consequence.  I  had  long 
ceased  to  try  to  fathom  the  motives  of  those  around  me — long 
rested  comfortably  in  the  belief  that  all  they  did  was  for  the  best, 
and  from  unavoidable  causes. 

When  Bishop  Clare  was  at  Bouverie,  he  spent  much  of  his  time 
alone  with  my  grandfather.  A  strong  personal  attachment  had 
existed  between  them,  it  seemed,  although  no  two  men  ever  evi- 
aencefll  less  congeniality  of  sentiment.  I  do  not  remember  to  have 
been  present  at  more  than  one  or  two  of  these  interviews,  and 
then  it  appeared  to  me  that  my  grandfather  was  restrained  and 
silent,  and  Bishop  Clare  excited  and  ill  at  ease.  Between  him 
and  my  grandmother  existed  a  very  diiferent  intercourse.  Her 
whole  nature  seemed  to  wake  up  and  open  in  his  presence,  as  that 
of  a  plant  in  the  reviving  rays  of  the  morning  sun.  She  hung 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  243 

upon  his  words,  often  commonplace  enough,  as  if  they  had  been 
saintly  oracles.  She  anticipated  his  wants  with  all  a  daughter's 
forethought,  and  gave  up  every  employment  to  amuse  and  enter- 
tain him.  When  he  left  her  house  she  would  follow  his  retreating 
form  with  streaming  eyes,  and  sink,  for  days  after,  into  cold,  list- 
less apathy. 

He  was,  indeed,  as  she  had  said,  the  link  that  bound  her  to  the 
outward  as  well  as  the  spiritual  world.  The  memories,  the  affec- 
tions, of  a  whole  life  were  centred  in  him,  as  relics  of  the  dead  are 
laid  away  in  a  precious  casket.  Dr.  Quintil,  with  all  his  calm 
good  sense  and  life-long  devotion,  had  not  half  the  influence  over 
her  that  belonged  to  Bishop  Clare. 

I  know  not  how  it  was,  that,  much  as  I  revered  and  even  loved 
him,  our  holy  father  acquired  no  such  dominion  over  me.  It  must 
have  been  my  instinctive  shrinking  from  the  commonplace  that 
governed  me  in  this  matter — an  impatience  of  the  matter-of-fact 
in  all  its  phases.  There  was  a  chord  in  my  nature  that  vibrated 
to  whatever  was  peculiar,  romantic,  erratic  even,  in  others  ;  there 
was  a  void  to  be  filled  only  by  the  ideal,  the  chivalric,  the  half 
revealed.  There  was  another  feeling  very  strong  with  me,  heredi- 
tary, perhaps — I  valued  no  divided  affection.  Bishop  Clare  was 
not  fastidious  enough  ;  he  placed  every  one  he  loved  too  much  on 
the  same  platform  ;  and  did  he  not — for  it  was  his  vocation — love 
all  the  world?  I  imagined  him  going  into  Irish  hovels,  with 
nearly  the  same  words  of  praise  or  blame,  encouragement  or  affec- 
tion, he  spoke  to  us.  But  that  man  in  the  sealed  solitude  above 
had  no  other  source  of  delight  than  I  afforded  him.  Deeper  love, 
stronger  friendship,  he  might  once  have  known  than  he  felt  for  or 
received  from  me  ;  "  but  the  trail  of  the  serpent  was  over  them 
»U."  My  unaffected  devotion  to  him,  my  very  ignorance  of  the 


244  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEE1E. 

past,  the  freshness  of  our  acquaintance,  even,  kept  our  affection 
green,  for  I  was  to  Mm  as  a  young  shoot  putting  out  from  some 
old  root,  the  decayed  remnant  of  a  noble  tree,  thus  unexpectedly 
sending  up  a  scion  to  be  watched  and  tended  again,  and  to 
flourish  luxuriantly  over  the  mournful  wreck  of  the  past. 

Although  restored  to  comparative  health,  my  grandfather's 
condition  was  a  precarious  one,  through  the  autumn  and  winter  of 
a  year  whose  severity  of  cold  has  never  been  surpassed  in  the 
region  in  which  we  dwelt.  During  two  months  of  this  most 
rigorous  season,  he  never  left  the  rooms  set  apart  for  his  winter 
use,  consisting  simply  of  a  chamber — that  in  which  I  had  first 
seen  him — and  the  small  laboratory  whose  roaring  furnace  over 
my  head  had  confirmed  my  suspicions  of  a  hidden  inmate. 

He  did  not  even  venture,  so  sensitive  to  cold  had  his  frame 
become  during  this  period,  to  emerge  into  the  circular  hall,  even 
for  the  advantage  of  exercise  and  light.  There  was  no  way  of 
warming  this  apartment,  the  size  and  roofing  of  which  rendered 
it  intensely  cold  ;  and  he  basked  in  the  glare  of  the  great  coal-fire 
within  and  the  artificial  lights  he  burned,  by  the  brilliancy  and 
number  of  which  he  tried  to  console  himself  for  the  absence  of 

the  sun. 

In  order  to  enjoy  these  luxuries  with  security,  it  was  necessary 

to  close  the  windows  almost  hermetically,  by  means  of  thick  shut- 
ters placed  inside  of  the  sashes,  protected  without,  as  these  were, 
only  by  the  jalousies  that  shielded  all  the  casements.  We  have 
Been  how  a  ray  of  light,  shining  through  the  crevices  of  these 
Venetian  blinds,  during  his  illness,  had  subjected  my  grandmother 
to  suspicion  and  persecution  even — for  in  the  summer,  when  his 
closely-sealed  apartment  became  unendurable  to  him,  and  he 
passed  into  another,  our  prisoner  was  compelled  to  dispense  alto- 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  245 

gether  with  artificial  light,  and  pass  the  short  nights  in  darkness. 
In  winter  he  was  as  completely  shut  away  from  the  external 
world  in  that  closely  sealed  room  of  his,  as  the  sailors  in  the  hold 
of  a  ship  are  shielded,  when  the  dead  lights  are  down,  from  the 
raging  storms  without. 

The  constant  fire  in  his  grate,  excited,  however,  no  attention  as 
that  in  the  dining-room  below  was  never  extinguished  wholly,  and 
the  same  chimney  carried  off  the  smoke  from  either  flue.  The  fur- 
nace in  the  laboratory  was  connected  also  with  this  by  means  of 
slender  pipes  contrived  by  Dr.  Quintil. 

I  think  I  have  sufficiently  shown  that  the  comfort  as  well  as 
safety  of  our  captive  had  been  scrupulously  consulted,  as  far  at 
least  as  these  could  be  connected.  His  tastes,  his  pleasures  were 
equally  considered. 

His  room  was  surrounded  with  cabinets  of  minerals,  shells, 
coins,  and  medallions  cast  from  outlines  of  celebrated  statues, 
and  bas-relievos.  The  rotunda  was  literally  lined  with  fine  en- 
gravings, among  which  appeared,  here  and  there,  exquisite  paint- 
ings, like  jewels  sparkling  on  a  setting  of  plain  gold.  His 
writing-table  was  heaped  with  the  volumed  literature  of  the  day, 
regularly  renewed,  although  consumed  (such  literally  was  the  ex- 
pression that  suited  best  his  style  of  reading),  with  such  remorse- 
less rapidity.  Folios  of  architectural,  geological,  botanical, 
anatomical  prints,  were  piled  on  dtageres.  Magazines  and  news- 
papers were  brought  in,  too,  for  his  use,  by  every  mail ;  yet  had 
it  depended  on  him,  none  of  these  suggestive  'influences  would 
hare  surrounded  his  lonely  lot,  much  as  he  enjoyed  them. 

His  income,  cut  down  now  to  his  original  patrimony,  that  de- 
rived from  Ursa,  or  Usher  Bouverie — once  large  from  his  own  exer- 
tions— and  passing  through  the  hands  of  his  wife  into  his  own  (since 


246          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUYERIE. 

in  the  eyes  of  the  world  he  had  no  existence),  flowed  into  far 
different  channels.  One  thousand  guineas  a  year  still  came  to 
him  from  English  funds  with  unfailing  regularity,  paid  in  gold,  as 
it  was  for  its  intrinsic  value  only  that  he  esteemed  the  money  he 
used  for  such  peculiar  purposes.  In  the  preparation  of  his  costly 
medicine,  and  the  prosecution  of  his  chemical  experiments,  he  con- 
sumed every  grain  of  this,  yet  found  it  all  too  little  to  develop 
the  mighty  purpose  that  inspired  his  stagnant  life.  He  had  con- 
ceived a  project  of  which  he  never  lost  sight  for  one  moment  of 
his  conscious  existence,  and  in  the  development  of  which  he 
rested  his  whole  earthly  aspiration.  He  believed  in  the  entire 
possibility  of  effecting  this  great  object  of  his  life,  and  had 
proved  this  confidence  by  daring  the  anger  of  Nicholas  of  Russia, 
rather  than  acknowledge  himself  incompetent  to  carry  out  his 
idolized  scheme.  It  was  his  belief  that  he  possessed  this  power, 
that  enabled  him  to  bear  so  patiently  his  inactive  and  monoto- 
nous life.  What  was  the  past,  what  was  imprisonment,  what  was 
remorse  itself  to  one  who  looked  to  a  future  so  splendid  as  to  gild 
a  whole  existence,  however  dark,  as  the  dawning  glory  of  the 
morning  dispels  the  shadows  and  chilliness  of  night  ? 

"  Why,  Lilian,"  he  would  say,  "  the  fabulous  lamp  of  Aladdin 
would  fall  short  of  the  power  such  science,  when  perfected, 
would  confer  on  its  possessor.  Chains  could  not  hold  such  a 
man,  authority  could  not  come  near  him,  he  would  be 
amenable  to  no  laws  ;  armies  would  be  at  his  command,  and 
the  kings  of  the  earth  his  suppliants.  Limits  could  not  be 
placed  in  the  miraculous  wealth  of  one  who  could  mold  obscure 
and  common  elements  into  the  richest  treasure  known  to  the 
human  race." 

As  the  brilliant  vision  swayed  his  mood,  he  would  walk  the 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  247 

room  with  steps  of  pride  and  power,  his  form  dilating,  his  eye 
glittering,  and  that  radiance  that  I  have  seen  in  no  other  counte- 
nance flashing  over  and  illuminating  his  face  like  sunshine. 
Another  moment  and  the  dream  would  vanish  before  the  impo- 
tence of  reality.  His  step  would  slacken,  his  lifted  arm  fall 
heavily  by  his  side,  his  head  droop  on  his  breast,  the  light  die 
from  his  face,  and  he  would  throw  himself  depressed  and  ex- 
hausted into  a  chair,  to  muse  and  perhaps  despair. 

Yet  this  depression,  this  exhaustion,  were  never  of  long  endur- 
ance. Again  the  brilliant  possible  would  put  aside  the  impotent 
actual.  Again  the  blazing  eye,  the  eloquent  voice,  the  graceful 
gesture,  would  bear  witness  to  the  strong  conviction  that  nerved 
his  inmost  being,  and  sorrow,  shame,  adversity  fade  before  the 
splendor  of  his  imagination  ! 

Such  was  his  solitary  life  !  More  full  of  excitement  and  change 
than  that  of  the  commonplace  many,  who  meet  and  mingle  in  the 
highways  of  the  world.  He  had  made  to  himself  a  kingdom  in 
his  solitude,  where  his  brilliant  theory  held  absolute  dominion, 
self-crowned  and  sceptred.  His  good  angels  were  all  gone. 
Freedom,  affection,  religion — he  had  relinquished  these,  and  he 
struck  hands  with,  and  confided  in  the  gloomy  genius  that  re- 
mained to  him. 

One  by  one  had  drifted  from  him  all  that  gilds  our  earthly 
dream.  Glory,  virtue,  pride  and  honor,  God's  approval,  man's 
esteem.  All  were  gone,  save  wild  ambition,  with  its  power  to 
dare  and  scheme. 

What  marvel,  then,  that  listening  to  his  persuasive  voice,  gazing 
on  his  speaking  countenance,  witnessing  his  weird  experiments,  my 
young  imagination  took  fire  from  his,  and  went  hand  in  hand  with 
his  own  enthusiasm  ?  It  was,  indeed  mysterious  joy  to  me  to  bend 


24:8  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVKRIE. 

with  him  over  his  crucibles,  and  surrey  the  magic  crystallization 
and  change  of  color  that  the  mixing  of  elements  occasioned ;  or 
to  behold  fluid  divide  from  fluid,  as  did  the  waters  of  the  Red  Sea 
beneath  the  rod  of  Moses  ;  and  to  image  forth,  as  globule  melted 
into  globule,  and  gradually  bodies  of  light  and  beauty  emerged  from 
opaque  molten  masses,  how  God  shaped  his  worlds  and  flung 
them  forth,  one  after  another,  into  space,  to  testify  of  his  power 
forever ! 

Under  the  strong  stimulant  of  fancy,  I  have  indeed  felt  at 
times,  a  quick  terror  come  over  me,  as  though  the  presence  of 
some  unseen  witness  shadowed  the  chamber,  and  gazing  round 
have  half  dreaded  to  see  some  shapeless,  gigantic  thing  emerge 
from  the  twilight  corners  of  the  room,  when  the  lights  burned 
low,  and  flit  with  webbed,  bat-like  wings,  along  the  dusky 
walls. 

It  may  have  been  a  noxious  exhalation  from  the  crucibles  that 
filled  my  brain  with  fantasies  like  these,  quick  to  come,  and  to 
depart ;  but  from  whatever  cause  they  originated,  I  had  at  least 
the  power  to  control  any  expression  that  might  have  betrayed 
my  weakness,  or  my  expectation  (call  it  by  what  name  you  will), 
to  my  grandfather  or  Fabius.  I  believed  that  one  such' manifes- 
tation on  my  part  would  close  for  me  the  door  of  these  mysteries 
forever,  and  the  variety  they  gave  my  life  had  made  them  invalu- 
able to  me. 

Of  the  many  experiments  my  grandfather  performed  for  my 
amusement  only,  I  will  describe  but  one,  as  further  detail  might 
weary  those  with  whom  I  am  desirous  to  proceed  to  the  end. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  249 


CHAPTER  III. 

ONE  day,  on  my  entrance — one  bitter  day  in  February,  I  re- 
member, while  he  was  still  confined  to  his  sealed  chamber — he 
looked  up  from  the  writing  which  engaged  much  of  his  time,  and 
welcomed  me  with  a  smile  of  more  than  usual  significance. 

"  Wait  a  little,  Lilian,  until  I  have  shaped  a  few  more  sentences 
in  this  endless  treatise — this  Penelope's  web  of  mine — and  I  will 
show  you  a  new  experiment ;  one  at  least  that  you  have  not  wit- 
nessed before.  Fabius,  trim  the  lamp,  it  burns  badly.  Ah,  I 
wish  the  time  was  come  when  electricity  would  do  service  instead 
of  oil  or  gas.  I  hate  this  detail — all  will  be  simple,  then, '  in  that 
good  time  coming.' " 

I  sat  dOwn  in  quiet  expectation,  and  he  went  on  writing,  while 
Fabius  made  his  usual  systematic  and  nice  arrangements  in  perfect 
silence.  He  first  set  forth  a  small  marble-topped  table,  on  which 
be  placed  a  crystal  globe,  with  a  movable  top,  a  tall  blue  jar,  and 
a  flask — or  perhaps  one  might  call  it  a  retort  of  common  green 
glass.  A  stopper  in  the  side  of  the  globe  was  now  removed,  and 
the  spout  of  the  retort  inserted  into  the  aperture,  which  was  made 
to  fit  tightly  by  means  of  wrappings  of  some  transparent  material. 
My  grandfather  now  approached  the  table. 

".Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  resurrection  of  flowers,  Lilian  ? — not 
in  the  old  slow  fashion  of  root  and  stem,  winter  and  summer,  but 
sudden,  wonderful,  as  that  which  we  are  told  shall,  among  men, 
succeed  the  sound  of  the  last  trump  ?" 

:'  Grandfather,  what  a  comparison  !" 

11* 


250  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEEIE. 

"  You  shall  sec  for  yourself,  child,  and  understand  me  better 
Give  me  that  dead  rose,  Lilian." 

I  looked  in  the  direction  of  his  pointing  hand,  and  took  from  a 
vase  on  the  mantel-piece  a  branch  which  I  had  broken  from  a 
plant  in  the  basement,  on  which  a  solitary  rose  had  struggled  into 
wintry  bloom,  and  carried  to  him  some  days  before.  I  took  the 
rose  from  the  vase,  and  gave  it  to  him,  as  he  requested. 

"  Now  look,  Lilian  1" 

I  obeyed.  The  dead  rose  was  thrown  into  the  crystal  Dowl, 
and  the  lid  replaced.  Then,  lifting  the  cover  of  the  retort,  the 
contents — invisible  to  me — of  the  blue  jar  were  hastily  dashed  into 
it,  and  the  top  as  instantly  closed  down  again.  In  a  few  moments 
the  spell  began  to  work  before  my  astonished  eyes.  A  faint 
bluish  vapor  seemed  gradually  to  fill  the  transparent  sphere, 
through  the  filmy  clearness  of  which  I  could  distinctly  discern 
whatever  change  occurred  within. 

The  rose,  blackened  and  dead,  grew  at  the  extremity  of  a 
shrivelled  stem,  about  six  inches  long,  covered  with  faded  leaves. 
It  lay  helplessly  at  first  at  the  bottom  of  the  bowl.  What  was 
my  astonishment,  to  see  it  gradually  assume  an  erect  position,  as 
a  sleeper,  half-bewildered,  might  slowly  arise  from  his  couch,  and 
stand  upright  beside  it !  The  flaccid  leaves  revived,  a  tint  of 
green  crept  through  them,  the  stem  filled  up,  the  thorns  bristled 
in  fleshy  greenness ;  and  now,  the  rojte,  first  with  a  faint  tinge  of 
its  olden  color,  then  with  a  more  vivid  hue,  swelled,  strengthened, 
deepened,  flushed  into  new  life  and  beauty,  and  stood  arrayed 
before  me,  as  when  freshly  broken  from  the  parent  stem  ! 

A  murmur  of  admiration  escaped  my  lips.  My  grandfather 
stood,  with  his  arms  folded,  gazing  with  ca,reless  approbation  on 
the  limited  success  of  his  experiment,  not  yet  completed.  Fot 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  251 

still  more  wonderful  to  witness — had  this  been  possible — was  th« 
process  by  which  the  tiny  shoots  at  the  root  of  each  leaf-stem 
were  impelled  to  put  forth  embryo  leaves.  The  plant  was 
growing  ! 

"  How  beautiful !  how  marvellous  1"  I  exclaimed.  His  spark- 
ling eyes  and  smile  testified  his  enjoyment  of  my  amazement  ;  but 
he  said  nothing,  and,  mutely  stretching  out  his  hand  to  Fabius, 
waited  a  moment  in  that  attitude  of  expectancy  until  the  attend- 
ant— first  seeking  them  in  a  drawer — brought  and  poured  on  his 
palm  a  few  of  the  black  conical  seeds  of  the  cypress  vine. 

Again  he  opened  the  lid  of  the  crystal  bowl,  from  which  a  faint, 
unpleasant  odor  escaped  as  he  did  so,  and,  throwing  them  hastily 
in,  closed  it  again.  And  again  the  attentive  eye,  the  folded 
arms,  led  me  to  expect  new  wonders.  Nor  was  I  disappointed. 

I  saw  that  from  the  rose,  or  its  decayed  particles,  a  black  mold 
had  been  precipitated,  in  which  the  stem  seemed  firmly  fixed,  and 
beneath  whose  soft  covering  the  seeds  settled  slowly  down  until 
hidden  from  sight. 

I  watched  the  process  eagerly,  and  soon — oh,  wonderful,  magical 
transition ! — the  tender  whitish  germs  appeared  above  their  scanty 
covering,  deepened  in  color,  sprung  up  into  rapid  development — 
grew,  climbed  the  confines  of  the  basin  ;  clung  to  the  rose,  now 
covered  with  tiny  buds,  and  put  forth  in  profusion  their  small 
crimson  trumpets. 

I  gazed  enchanted,  my  lips  parted,  my  hands  pressed  on  my 
breast,  almost  fearing  to  breathe,  lest  the  fairy  spell  might  be 
broken,  when  suddenly  he  lifted  the  lid. 

For  a  moment  the  vision  of  flowers  continued  ;  then,  as  a  dream 
passes,  melted  away,  leaving  the  helpless  withered  branch,  and 
the  slender  black  stem  of  the  cypress  vines,  as  the  only  witness  of 


'252  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOITVERIE. 

the  vanished  bloom,  save  the  dark  mold  that  still  covered  the 
bottom  of  the  bowl. 

"  Grandfather,  this  is  .sorcery  !"  I  exclaimed. 

He  smiled.  "  No,  Lilian — nothing  but  a  sport  of  science,  than 
which  I  could  show  you  many  more  marvellous,  had  I  material 
and  patience.  All  that  you  saw  was  effected  by  the  combination 
of  gases,  forcing  into  active  impulse  the  same  powers  that  in  their 
natural  condition  furnish  in  a  gradual  way  the  life  and  being  of 
flowers.  And  now  let  us  reason  from  analogy.  Why  cannot  the 
power  that  can  compel  dead  plants  to  live  again,  and  seed  to 
germinate  in  a  moment  instead  of  a  month,  as  well  compress  those 
energies  into  sudden  vigor,  which,  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  are 
slowly  constructing  diamonds  ?" 

"  Why  not  indeed  !"  I  murmured. 

''When  I  reflect,"  he  continued,  "that  I  have  so  nearly  grasped 
the  secret  of  almost  superhuman  success  in  the  condensation  of 
diamonds,  I  can  but  deplore  the  necessity  I  find  myself  under  of 
abandoning  forever  a  scheme  the  fruition  of  which  would  elevate 
me  and  mine  to  the  very  pinnacle  of  earthly  grandeur.  I  am 
doubted,  I  am  considered  a  dreamer,  by  those  nearest  to  me,  and 
who  would  be  the  chief  beneficiaries  of  my  success.  You,  even, 
Lilian,  listen  to  me  with  distrust." 

He  hesitated  as  if  waiting  for  a  reply,  a  disavowal,  perhaps,  of 
his  accusation .     I  made  none,  although  greatly  impressed  by  mV 
words  and  manner.     A  moment  later  he  went  on  : 

"  This  is  hard  to  bear,  yet  I  must  not  forget  that  in  the  begin- 
ning all  important  discoveries  have  been  met  with  mockery  and 
suspicion.  Was  not  Galileo  imprisoned  ?  Did  they  not  shut  up 
in  an  iron  cage,  as  a  desperate  lunatic,  the  first  man  Avho  sug- 
gested the  use  of  steam  in  France  ?  Was  not  Columbus  doubted  ? 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.  253 

Was  not  Socrates  sacrificed  ?  Was  not  Christ  crucified  ?  In  all 
time  the  ignorance  of  man  has  risen  in  rebellion  against  the  dawn 
of  science  or  philosophy.  So  shall  it  be  to  the  end.  Yet  these 
matters  force  themselves  on  human  conviction  at  last,  thanks  to 
man's  selfishness,  to  which  be  all  honor  !" 

He  smiled  and  waved  his  hand  in  his  peculiar  sarcastic  way  ; 
rose,  paced  the  floor,  and  continued  talking  in  low  but  clear 
tones,  as  if  soliloquizing.  His  long  seclusion  had  taught  him  the 
comfort  of  this. 

"  Electricity,  by  the  help  of  which  men  are  destined  to  cultivate 
their  fields,  propel  their  ships  and  carriages,  prepare  their  food, 
illuminate  their  cities,  communicate,  with  lightning-speed,  from 
zone  to  zone  ;  nay,  restore  life  itself  in  many  instances,  when  all 
other  means  have  failed  ;  this  mightiest  power  granted  to  man  by 
Omnipotence,  is  dormant  still,  in  this  first  dawn  of  science.  How 
grand — how  Godlike  will  be  its  development  I  Your  Greeks, 
with  their  Jove  and  thunderbolts,  never  dreamed  of  things  like 
these  1" 

He  turned  to  me,  slightly  smiled,  paused,  then  continued  his 
slow  musing  walk  in  silence  for  a  tune  ;  at  last  he  broke  forth 
agaiu : 

"  When  the  balloon  ascends  amid  the  shout  of  boys,  or  the  long 
drawn  breathings  of  thoughtful  men,  fearful  of  the  result  to 
human  life  ;  how  little  does  the  crowd  foresee  the  time  when  such 
ascensions  shall  be  affairs  of  hourly  and  certain  occurrence,  a*id 
the  balloon  (aimless  and  useless  now)  be  considered  the  safest 
and  speediest  method  of  conveyance.  Tennyson,  indeed,  seems  to 
have  thought  of  this  when  he  speaks  of  "  airy  navies  grappling  in 
the  central  blue  I"  Was  not  that  what  he  was  aiming  at,  Lilian  ? 
What  beautiful  lines  that  man  writes,  by  the  way.  I  mean 


254  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUYEUIE. 

literally  what  I  say — lines  ;  there  are  some  that  haunt  me,  cut 
away,  like  ships  drifting  from  anchor,  from  all  connection  of  sense 
or  meaning  beyond  the  exquisite  fullness  of  sound,  and  single 
images.  You  remember  where  he  tells  of 

.  '  Summer  isles  of  Eden,  lying 

In  dark  spheres  of  purple  sea.' 

Gorgeous,  by  heaven  1 

'  Love  took  up  the  glass  of  time, 
And  turned  it  in  his  glowing  hands.' 

What  a  picture  1     Titian  might  have  painted  it — he  only  I 

'  When  in  wild  Mahratta  battle, 
Fell  my  father,  evil  starred  !' 

"What  aline  for  sound,  for  power,  for  suggesting  narrative!  A 
whole  history  springs  out  of  it  at  once.  By  the  by,  your  true 
poets  are  your  only  prophets,  you  know — eh,  Lilian  ?"  stopping, 
and  turning  upon  me  suddenly  with  his  glittering  smile.  "  Your 
practical  people  never  see  beyond  their  own  noses,  be  they 
long  or  short,  and  reduce  everything  to  one  level.  Old  Pro- 
crustes was  their  ancestor,  I'm  thinking  !" 

"  I  don't  know,  grandfather,  what  to  think  of  prophets  or  pro- 
phecies, beyond  what  man's  judgment  points  to — a  different  thing, 
after  all,  from  prophecy.  Who  can  know  the  future,  save 
God  ?" 

"  And  are  you  sure  he  knows  it,  Lilian  ?" 

"  Grandfather  !  Can  any  one  doubt  his  supreme  know- 
ledge ?  Such  misgivings  were  blasphemy,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  There  is  no  surprise  for  the  Deity  then,  child.  He  misses  a 
very  great  pleasure,  I  am  convinced  !  \  According  to  you  reli- 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  255 

gious  people,  he  is  the  cause  of  all  evil,  since  he  foresees  and  does 
not  prevent  it,  as  well  as  of  all  good.  Strange,  irreconcilable 
creed !  j  Believe  me,  he  has  something  greater  to  do  than  to 
arrange  puppets,  and  pull  their  wires,  or  to  watch  the  proceedings 
of  man." 

"  The  Bible  tells  us,  grandfather,  that  the  hairs  of  our  head  are 
counted  ;  and,  that  '  not  a  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground  without 
his  knowledge.'  It  makes  me  feel  very  happy  to  believe  this,  very 
fearless." 

"  Believe  it,  then,"  he  said,  gloomily  ;  "  if  such  be  the  result, 
happiness  is  not  easily  procured  ;  find  it  where  you  can,  even  in 
delusions." 

Again  he  paced  the  room,  his  head  bowed  on  his  breast,  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him,  and  again,  after  an  interval  of  silence, 
he  spoke  in  those  clear,  low  somnambulic  tones  peculiar  to  him 
when  soliloquizing  ;  for  he  seemed  at  moments  to  forget  every 
presence,  and  to  commune  with  self  alone. 

"  In  the  last  few  days  I  have  perfected  a  system  beyond  any 
possibility  of  failure,  now  that  I  have  thoroughly  tested  the 
amount  of  power  employed,  and  the  means  of  creating  the  neces- 
sary pressure.  This  system  has  been  perfected  by  failure  and 
sacrifice,  as  have  all  the  successful  systems  of  the  world,  whether 
physical  or  moral.  In  acquiring  the  skill  and  knowledge  requisite 
to  my  art  (that  of  condensing  diamonds)  I  have  used  all  the 
jewels  in  my  possession,  and  I  find  myself  prostrated  for  means 
to  prosecute  my  search  ;  the  result  of  which  must  be  the  final 
triumph  of  Alchemy  ! 

"  This  is  no  vain  hypothesis,  but  a  common-sense  proceeding,  by 
which  diamonds,  under  certain  treatment,  can  be  blended  and  con- 
densed into  one  body  with  the  same  amount  of  certainty  that 


256  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVERE3. 

water  exposed  to  peculiar  temperature  may  be  hardened  into  ice. 
The  Indian  king,  who  put  to  death  a  missionary  for  asserting-  this 
natural  phenomenon,  was  not  more  narrow  in  his  prejudices  than 
those  who  deny  the  feasibility  of  my  scheme.  I  am  convinced 
that  in  a  given  time,  and  with  certain  agents,  I  can  convert  any 
amount  of  diamonds  not  larger  than  a. pin's  head  into  their  equal, 
or  nearly  their  equal  weight,  in  one  large,  brilliant,  and  uniform 
mass.  I  go  beyond  this.  I  earnestly  believe  that  with  superior 
assistance  to  any  I  now  possess,  I  can  create  with  equal  facility, 
and  from  the  common  elements  around  me,  diamonds  of  inesti- 
mable size,  and  water. 

"Have  you  heard  me,  Lilian?  Do  you  hear  that  word, 
create?  "  he  said,  suddenly  stopping  and  surveying  me.  "A  God's 
privilege  until  now  ?  A  creator  of  diamonds  ! — oh,  what  a  divine 
phrase  !  Listen,  child :  the  philosopher's  stone  was  nothing  to 
it ;  no  dream  of  Eastern  story  equals  it ;  no  dumb,  submissive 
genii  ever  ministered  with  such  unflinching,  mechanical  fidelity  to 
the  owner  of  lamp,  or  talisman,  or  mystic  ring,  as  shall  this  power 
to  me  ! 

"  What  a  heritage  to  bequeath  to  a  whole  race  !  Think 
of  it,  Lilian — think  of  it  I  Power,  genius,  beauty,  luxury,  rank 
itself,  tributary  to  the  posterity  of  that  webbed-spider — that  stone- 
grown  toad — that  sealed  pestilence,  Erastus  Bouverie  !" 

"  Grandfather,  do  not  speak  such  terrible  words — you  unnerve 
me,  you  wrong  yourself !"  I  approached,  and  stood  beside  him, 
placing  my  hand  on  his  shoulder  soothingly.  He  had  thrown 
himself  on  a  sofa,  and,  leaning  on  its  elbow,  covered  his  face  with 
his  hands,  and  his  whole  frame  shook  with  his  strong  emotion. 
After  a  time  he  looked  up,  and  I  saw,  for  the  first  time,  tears 
rolling  over  his  pale  and  haughty  countenance ;  and  all  the  pity, 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          257 

all  the  sympathy  01"  my  nature,  were  stirred  by  this  unwonted 
Bight.  I,  too,  wept. 

"  You  feel  for  me,  Lilian,  but  in  some  respects  you  are  like  the 
rest.  I  am  in  your  eyes  only  an  enthusiastic  dreamer." 

"  Oh,  no,  grandfather  !  I  know  you  have  great  powers  ;  I  do 
believe  that  you  will  yet  succeed — that  is,  if  it  be  God's  will." 

"  Give  me  my  life  and  the  diamonds,  and  I  will  make  the  will," 
he  said,  almost  fiercely,  dashing  his  long,  thin  hand  back  against 
the  carved  woodwork  of  the  sofa  with  reckless  force.  "  Lilian,  I 
hate  cant — I  am  afraid  this  is  all  talk  with  you.  What  makes 
you  think  that  God  troubles  himself  about  man's  affairs — He  that 
has  worlds  to  manage — innumerable  systems  even  ?  It  is  vanity 
— it  is  worse — to  suppose  that  he  knows  the  individual  from  the 
mass.  He  stereotypes  Creation — He  does  not  set  up  copy  letter 
by  letter  ;  and  special  knowledge  would  be  the  ruin  of  His  gigantic 
schemes?  Believe  me,  God  has  nothing  to  do  with  us  or  our 
affairs.  We  stand  alone." 

"  Alone,  grandfather !"  I  said,  in  a  low,  sorrowful  voice 
"  What  a  terrible  solitude  that  would  be  !  But,  fortunately,  God 
has  determined  for  us  in  this  matter.  Yet  how  can  any  being  of 
His  hand  endure  his  life  under  such  a  cloud  as  this  ?  Our  Creator 
forget  us,  ignore  us  !  Oh,  grandfather,  I  could  not  live  an  hour 
and  believe  this  terrible  thing  !" 

"We  will  not  talk  of  creeds,"  he  said,  gloomily;  "  as  well  reason 
a  man  into  falling  in  love,  as  into  believing  against  the  habit  of 
his  life.  I  am  unfortunate,  perhaps  ;  but  incorrigible,  neverthe- 
less. I  am  wrong  to  be  so  rough  with  you,  however.  Poor 
child  ! — poor  tender  flower  blooming  in  captivity,  like  Piccioli ! 
As  I  said  before,  be  deluded,  if  you  will,  so  that  it  renders  you 
happy.  Ah,  Lilian,  that  is  a  beautiful  word,"  he  added,  shaki%' 


258  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVERIE. 

bis  head  mournfully  ;  "  it  has  been  a  long  tune  since  I  heard  it 
fall  from  any  lips  before  you  uttered  it.  Yes,  there  must  be  such 
a  thing.  Happiness  is  no  myth,  as  I  have  sometimes  thought  \t, 
but  real  as  ah*  and  sunshine  ;  real,  but — like  them — intangible." 

He  paused,  as  if  wrapt  in  thought. 

"  It  is  said  that  women  of  your  temperament  are  never  happy," 
he  continued  ;  "but  I  do  not  believe  this.  I  think,  on  the  con- 
trary, that  they  possess  an  internal  and  perennial  fount  of  joy, 
which  no  other  influence  can  wholly  quench  or  sully— not  even 
poverty,  Lilian — not  even  pain — not  even  shame." 

"  These  things  would  fall  very  crushingly  on  me,  grandfather. 
God's  aid  alone  could  sustain  me  under  them." 

He  gazed  at  me  long  and  earnestly.  "  Go,"  he  said,  at  last ; 
"I  am  weary,  now — exhausted,  almost.  Fabius,  the  Elixir  ! 
Lilian,  come  soon  again  !" 

As  I  left  the  room,  I  saw  Fabius  in  the  rotunda,  arranging  the 
vial  and  glass  on  a  salver.  As  I  passed  him  he  held  up  the  bottle 
with  a  galvanic  smile  ;  and  the  small  golden  snake  rose,  and  fell 
convulsively  in  the  fluid. 

"There  is  life  in  that,  Miss  Lilian,"  he  said,  shaking  it 
before  me. 

"  Life  1  What  life  ?"  I  thought ;  and,  for  the  first  time,  the 
true  meaning  of  Coleridge's  ghastly  picture  of  "life  hi  death" 
seemed  to  flash  over  me.  I  passed  the  old  man  in  silence,  and 
went  down,  depressed  and  wretched,  to  my  chamber.  I  never 
pitied  my  grandfather  so  inexpressibly  as  after  that  conver- 
sation. 

"  If  he  were  in  the  stone  cell  of  a  penitentiary,"  I  thought  that 
night,  as  I  lay  shedding  silent  tears  over  his  bitter  fate,  "  alone,  as 
they  tell  me  some  men  are,  and  destined  to  be  alone  to  the  very 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE. 


259 


hour  of  death  ;  if,  in  that  stone  cell,  he  could  believe  that  God 
knew  him,  pitied  him,  loved  him  even  ;  oh,  how  preferable,  how 
infinitely  less  solitary,  were  his  condition  !  But  to  be  God- 
forgotten,  God-forsaken— oh,  what  words  are  these  !  What  a 
mournful  doom  they  image  forth  to  me  !  Yet  such  is  the  self- 
uttered  sentence  of  both  of  my  grand-parents  Bouverie  1  Truly 
do  they  invoke  on  their  own  heads  the  terrific  words  that  Samuel 
spoke  to  Saul." 


260          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

I  MADE  that  night  a  resolution  involving  a  sacrifice,  that,  petty 
as  it  may  seem  to  the  reader,  cost  me  dear.  My  grandfather  had 
doubted  my  faith  in  him  ;  I  would  convince  him,  as  far  as  acts  of 
mine  could  do  this,  that  I  did  believe  in  his  ability  to  achieve  his 
scientific  schemes — a  confidence  that  I  knew  he  would  prize  on  my 
part,  however  injudiciously  accorded.  I  would  minister,  as  far  as 
I  was  able,  to  the  passion  that  glowed  so  vividly  amid  the  ashes 
of  his  life,  and  which  seemed  alone  to  light  its  desolation. 

I  would  carry  to  him,  on  my  next  visit,  my  diamond  cross.  I 
woold  consult  no  one  in  doing  this.  I  had  a  right  to  proceed  as 
I  saw  fit  with  my  own  property,  it  seemed  to  me  ;  nor  would  I,  by 
proposing  such  a  step,  arouse  objections  which  would  have  no 
weight  with  me  after  all,  yet  which  it  would  give  me  pain  openly 
to  oppose.  Precious  as  was  this  relic  of  the  past  to  me,  he  should 
have  it  to  do  with  it  as  he  chose.  He  should  destroy  it,  if  he 
liked  ;  take  out  all  of  the  large  stones,  one  by  one,  and  burn  them 
in  his  fierce  fire,  and  crush  the  small  bead-edging  of  minute  dia- 
monds that  surrounded  the  jet  setting  into  impalpable  dust,  if  it  so 
pleased  him. 

I  shivered  to  think  of  this,  for  a  life  of  thought  was  in  that 
cross  to  me.  It  was  a  symbol  of  my  mother's  religion,  and  a 
legacy  of  her  love.  I  knew  little  of  its  intrinsic  value,  cared  less, 
attached  none  to  it,  save  that  my  father's  beloved  hand  had  con- 
ferred when  he  placed  it,  a  marriage  gift,  on  her  beloved  bosom. 

This  circumstance  alone  would  have  hallowed  it  in  my  sight ; 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIB.          261 

but  what  was  this  association  of  feeling  even,  compared  to  the 
hope  that  the  sacrifice  I  was  making  might  console  my  grand- 
father, and  assure  him  of  my  confidence  and  affection  ;  or,  perhaps, 
enable  him  to  wrest  one  oasis  of  amusement  from  the  sandy  desert 
of  his  existence  ? 

I  could  offer  no  better  proof,  I  thought,  of  the  reality  of  my 
professions  to  one  who  doubted  me,  perhaps  ;  a  being  the  most 
desolate,  it  appeared  to  me — belief,  ability,  and  position,  severally 
considered— that  the  earth  bore  on  all  her  varied  surface — a 
being  the  most  fatally  gifted,  the  most  brEliantly  endowed,  that  I 
have  ever  known,  or  ever  should  know  again. 

It  was  not  without  tears,  and  prayeYs,  and  many  misgivings, 
that  I  made  this  resolution  ;  but  I  remembered  that  my  grand- 
father had  said  all  great  victories  were  won  by  sacrifice. 

Might  not  this  childish  one  of  mine  win  the  divine  favor  for  his 
projects,  which  I  endeavored  to  persuade  myself  were  destined  to 
ultimate  success  ?  and  smooth  away  some  obstacles  from  his  path 
to  that  almost  superhuman  fortune  he  promised  himself  in  the 
future. 

When  I  next  visited  my  grandfather's  chamber,  I  carried  with 
me,  in  accordance  with  this  resolution,  my  diamond  cross  ;  and, 
toward  the  termination  of  my  visit,  placed  it  in  his  hand,  with  a 
few  accompanying  words  of  explanation,  murmured,  rather  than 
spoken.  I  was  indeed  uncertain  how  he  would  receive  my 
offering. 

"Do  I  understand  you,"  he  said  at  last,  "  that  you  bring  me 
these  diamonds  of  your  own  free  will,  and  with  the  request  that  I 
may  use  them  in  the  continuation  of  my  experiments  ?" 

"  Such  is  my  wish,  grandfather." 

"  Go  then,  and  when  you  return  again  you  shall  witness  the 


262  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

result.  At  all  events,  you  shall  not  be  the  loser,  Lilian,  by  this 
act  of  generous  confidence.  Give  me  three  days  to  operate  in, 
and  then  return.  You  will  not  be  disappointed." 

"  I  expect  nothing,  grandfather,"  I  remonstrated.  "  It  is  not 
from  any  hope  of  gain,  only  to  amuse  your  solitude,  that  I " 

"  I  understand  all  this,"  he  interrupted,  "  and  yet  I  would  not 
despoil  you  of  any  portion  of  your  narrow  heritage  for  gratifica- 
tion of  mine.  I  shall  succeed,  and  you  shall  be  repaid." 

I  could  not  explain  to  him  (it  would  have  been  ungenerous  for 
me  to  have  attempted  it)  that  no  reward,  except  the  conscious- 
ness of  having  served  him,  could  at  all  compensate  me  for  the 
sacrifice  I  was  making.  I  was  disappointed  (such  is  the  strange 
injustice  of  the  human  heart)  that  he  did  not  properly  estimate 
it.  Yet,  had  he  comprehended  it  with  all  its  bitterness,  I  should 
probably  have  taken  pains  to  efface  an  impression  that  must  have 
pained  him.  With  that  inconsistency  which  belongs  to  a  nature 
made  up  of  opposite  qualities,  I  was  dissatisfied  with  the  whole 
proceeding,  and  in  a  moment  of  childish  spleen  almost  wished 
that  he  might  fail,  so  that  I  might  convince  him,  by  my  treat- 
ment of  the  disastrous  result,  of  my  perfect  disinterestedness  in 
the  transaction. 

It  was  toward  the  close  of  the  third  day  that  I  again  sought 
the  chamber  of  the  alchemist.  I  had  heard  him  busily  employed 
in  his  laboratory  before  I  rose,  and  after  I  retired  to  bed,  in  the 
room  above  mine.  The  fire  had  roared  incessantly  under  the  fur- 
nace since  we  parted,  and  the  light,  quick  tread  peculiar  to  him 
met  my  attentive  ear,  from  the  upper  floor.  I  had  distinguished 
also  the  slow  and  cautious  steps  of  Fabius  in  his  work  of  ministry, 
and  I  perceived  plainly  that  a  great  experiment  wits  in  pro- 
gress. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          263 

Whan  I  opened  the  door,  on  my  return  to  his  apartments,  I 
saw  my  grandfather  seated  as  usual  at  his  writing-table.  He 
looked  up  I  thought  with  a  troubled  and  anxious  glance  as  I 
entered. 

"  He  has  failed,"  I  said  to  myself,  "  Poor  grandfather,  I  pity 
you.  You  are  disappointed  I" 

I  stood  beside  him  a  moment  without  speaking,  and  laying  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  looked  intently  into  his  face. 

"  Lilian,"  he  said,  "  you  gave  me  your  little  cross.  I  return 
you  a  jewel  of  more  than  twenty  times  its  value." 

As  he  spoke  he  lifted  before  me  a  small  ring-box  of  mother  of 
pearl,  set  with  turquoise,  which  I  had  noticed  by  his  inkstand 
when  I  entered,  and  touching  a  spring,  disclosed  the  wondrous 
gem  within. 

A  diamond  as  large  as  the  iris  of  a  human  eye  flashed  and 
flickered  within  ;  for  only  by  these  terms  can  I  describe  its  living 
and  bewildering  lustre . 

"  Take  it,"  he  said,  "  Lilian.  This  marvellous  stone  is  yours." 
I  put  it  gently  aside. 

"  No,  grandfather,  I  do  not  want  your  jewel.  Your  success 
repays  me." 

"  I  command  you  to  take  it,"  he  said  a  little  sternly,  "  and  to 
preserve  the  whole  matter  an  inviolate  secret,"  and  again  he  ex- 
tended it  to  me.  "  It  is  justly  yours,"  he  added  as  I  received  the 
box,  dropping  his  head  again  above  his  writing,  and  proceeding 
with  his  occupation  as  if  unconscious  of  my  presence. 

I  was  heartsick,  and  sat  down,  on  a  low  velvet  stool,  at  some 
distance  from  the  table,  still  holding  the  box  carelessly  unopened 
in  my  hand.  I  did  not  want  the  jewel.  It  could  not  replace  my 
cross,  and  yet  left  no  reasonable  room  for  discontent  such  as  I 


264:  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUYEKEG. 

felt.    Tears  gathered  in  my  eyes,  yet  I  sat  in  silence — a  silence 
only  broken  by  the  scratching  of  his  rapid  pen. 

"  Lilian  I"  The  word  rang  out  so  suddenly  that  it  startled  me, 
and  I  looked  up  from  my  reverie  to  meet  my  grandfather's  pierc- 
ing gaze  riveted  on  me. 

"  You  are  wrong  in  supposing  that  I  do  not  appreciate  the 
motive  of  your  gift.  I  understand  perfectly  its  self-sacrificing 
nature.  Yet  I  thought  I  knew  you  well  enough  to  suppose  you 
would  prefer  I  should  not  allude  to  this." 

"  Oh,  grandfather  !"  I  exclaimed  in  a  deprecating  voice,  "  I  am 
quite  ashamed  " 

"  Your  gift,"  he  continued,  "  has  placed  me  far  on  the  progres- 
sive path  to  the  accomplishment  of  all  I  desire,  therefore  it  has 
not  been  made  in  vain.  Yet  it  is  natural  that  you,  who  are  no 
lapidary,  should  attach  little  consequence  to  this  success,  as  mani- 
fested in  that  splendid  stone.  Bring  it  to  me  ;  on  second  thoughts 
I  will  keep  it  until  I  can  have  it  set  for  you  in  a  ring  as  a  soli 
taire,  or  in  brooch  or  bracelet  clasp,  surrounded  with  rubies  or 
emeralds  (of  which  I  have  a  box  full  unpolished  in  my  secretary), 
as  you  prefer.  You  will  like  it  better  thus,  and  forget  your 
cross. 

"  Grandfather,"  I  said,  willing  to  waive  the  subject,  "  if  you 
have  rubies  and  emeralds,  why  not  concentrate  these  as  well  as 
diamonds  ?  They  are  greatly  enhanced  in  value  by  size,  and  are 
more  readily  procured." 

"  Because  they  lose  color,  and  become  opaque  in  the  process, 
and  are  without  that  power  of  resistance  which  keeps  its  lustre  in 
the  diamond's  heart  through  the  most  intense  pressure.  See," 
he  said,  approaching  me  and  opening  before  me  the  box  that  con- 
tamed  the  gem  he  had  given  me.  "Was  any  star  of  heaven 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  265 

erer  more  radiant,  more  flashing,  than  this  stone?  Was  any 
human  eye — yours  even,  Lilian— ever  more  full  of  vitality  and 
fire  ?" 

I  smiled  at  the  subtle  compliment,  and  stooping  down  to  ob- 
serve the  stone  more  narrowly  than  I  had  yet  done,  I  saw  w-hat 
appeared  to  me  a  small  bright  eye  directly  in  its  centre. 

"  Oh,  how  strange  I"  I  cried.  "  Grandfather,  did  you  ever 
observe  an  eye  in  the  very  heart  of  this  jewel — a  living,  human 
eye  ?" 

"Your  own,  probably,"  he  said,  taking  it  hastily  from  my 
hand,  "reflected  there  in  Nature's  choicest  mirror  ;"  and  closing 
the  lid  of  the  box,  he  placed  it  in  his  bosom.  "And  now,"  he 
said,  "  that  you  have  witnessed  my  success,  I  would  speak  to  you 
once  more  very  earnestly  indeed  of  the  last  hope  that  remains  to 
me.  Your  grandmother  has  diamonds — you  have  seen  them  I 
know — badly  set,  composed  of  innumerable  small  stones,  without 
peculiar  brilliancy.  Could  I  obtain  these,  I  shall  have  gained  my 
first  foothold  in  the  temple  of  fortune.  Lilian,  you  have  influence 
over  her.  It  must  be  so  ;  your  uprightness,  your  directness, 
your  judgment  must  gam  this  for  you,  with  all  who  know  and 
love  you.  I  charge  you  to  use  this  influence  for  the  great  end  I 
have  endeavored  to  portray  to  you.  Procure  those  diamonds  for 
me,  only  for  one  day,  and  I  will  rain  riches  on  your  grandmother 
in  return,  beyond  the  wildest  dreams  of  Alchemy." 

"Grandfather,"  I  replied,  "I  cannot  venture  on  this  subject 
again.  Once  before,  you  desired  me  to  make  the  suggestion.  It 
was  coldly  received,  and  I  was  forbidden  to  allude  again  to  such 
a  possibility.  Perhaps  if  you  would  show  my  grandmother  the 
result  of  your  last  experiment,  she  might  be  moved  from  the  reso- 
lution." 

12 


266  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVEREE. 

He  mused  and  smiled. 

"  She  gave  as  her  principal  reason  for  not  complying  with  my 
request,  I  believe,  that  she  considered  the  diamonds  sacredly 
yours  ;  the  only  heritage  she  had  to  leave  you,  I  think  she  said, 
except  this  domain  of  Bouverie,  with  its  worn  fields  and  sparse 
woodlands  ?" 

"  These  were  the  words,  grandfather.  You  recall  them  to  me 
perfectly." 

"  Then  it  is  to  you,  the  real  owner  of  the  diamonds,  that  I 
shall  address  myself." 

What  more  he  might  have  said  remained  unspoken,  for  at 
this  moment  my  grandmother's  light  knock  was  heard  at  -  the 
door. 

He  rose  to  open  it,  greeting  her  as  she  entered,  with  that  rare 
grace  and  cordiality  of  manner,  that  made  him  so  irresistible  in 
my  eyes  ;  but  she,  as  was  her  custom,  walked  across  the  floor 
with  a  grave  and  steady  step,  and  seated  herself  at  a  distance 
from  him 

"  We  were  speaking,  Camilla,  ere  you  came,"  he  said,  "  of  that 
wonderful  step  in  science  which  I  am  on  the  eve  of  taking,  the 
concentration  of  diamonds  ;  and  I  was  expressing  a  hope  to 
Lilian,  that  you  might  yet  be  prevailed  upon  to  lend  yourself  to 
my  undertaking." 

Her  brows  contracted  slightly,  as  though  the  subject  were  dis- 
tasteful to  her,  and  a  cloud  came  over  her  features. 

"  I  had  hoped,"  she  said,  "  that  you  had  dismissed  this  matter 
from  all  further  consideration,  as  an  entire  fallacy.  I  am  grieved 
to  find  that  the  dream  still  haunts  you." 

"  Why  does  he  not  show  her  the  proof  of  his  success,"  I 
'bought,  involuntarily  entering  the  lists  for  him  mentally  against 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  267 

her  skepticism.  "How  does  she  know  it  is  a  fallacy?  How 
hard  she  is,  to  censure  him  thus!" 

To  my  astonishment,  he  did  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  but  standing 
before  her,  and  fixing  her  with  his  glittering  eye,  the  Alchemist 
poured  forth  his  rapid  and  eloquent  defence  of  his  cherished 
scheme,  and  appealed  to  her  ambition,  her  pride,  her  hope  for 
future  distinction,  to  advocate  his  measures. 

"  Erastus,"  she  replied,  calmly,  when  he  had  finished  his  bril- 
liant appeal  ;  "I  cannot  go  with  you  along  the  path  of  visions. 
I  am  no  sophist,  no  dreamer  ;  I  would  that  I  had  your  capacity 
for  finding  substance  in  shadows.  But  with  me,  all  things  must 
be  real  to  be  of  the  slightest  value." 

"  Camilla,"  he  remonstrated  ;  "  throw  off,  I  conjure  you,  this 
dreary  mantle  of  skepticism,  and  lend  yourself  to  my  efforts  to 
build  up  the  future,  and  redeem  the  past  1  Give  me  your  useless 
diamonds.  Let  me  experiment  with  these,  and  when  a  stone 
larger  than  the  famous  Koh-i-noor,  the  Hindoos  hold  so  sacredly, 
meets  your  sight  as  the  product  of  my  labors,  recognize  the 
destiny  that  awaits  you  and  your  posterity.  Think  of  it  I" — a 
favorite  mode  of  emphasizing  of  his. — "  the  raising  of  your 
hand  shall  be  the  signal  for  monarchs  to  obey.  Arts,  science, 
progress  of  all  kinds,  be  stayed  or  facilitated  as  you  will.  Tlio 
first  position  of  the  world  will  be  assigned  to  its  richest  denizen, 
and  your  posterity,  perhaps,  occupy  the  thrones  of  the  nations  I 
In  this  atmosphere  of  power  and  pride,  your  youthful  brilliancy, 
your  happiness  will  be  restored  to  you/' 

She  groaned,  she  covered  her  eyes  with  her  hands — a  few 
broken  words  escaped  her  lips. 

"  Restored  !     Oh,  what  can  restore  the  dead  ?" 

I  do  not  think  she  meant  this  as  a  reproach.  It  was  wrung  from 


268  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVERIE. 

her  by  what  she  felt  the  bitter,  yet  unintended  mockery  of  his  last 
remark.  My  grandfather's  face  was  a  study.  Arrested  in  hia 
sanguine  flight  he  stood  with  one  hand  upraised,  and  an  expres- 
sion of  confusion  and  surprise  upon  his  countenance  that  evi- 
denced itself  in  a  thousand  rapid  changes.  His  color  became 
ghastly,  and  his  still  parted  lips  trembled  like  those  of  a  man  in  a 
strong  ague  fit.  The  lurid  and  continuous  flashing  of  his  eye 
denoted  the  strong  anger  that  was  moving  him,  and  must,  I 
thought,  had  she  looked  up  and  met  its  blazing  light,  have 
withered  her  who  had  offended  him. 

Yet,  in  a  few  moments  the  storm  was  apparently  lulled,  and 
when  my  grandmother  recovered  herself  and  raised  her  head  again, 
no  trace  of  unusual  emotion  could  be  discerned  on  the  plastic 
features  of  her  husband. 

Nor  was  the  subject  of  the  diamonds  again  recurred  to  during 
our  visit;  but  I  am  inclined  to  think  the  wish  to  possess  them  had 
only  yielded  to  the  determination  to  do  so  whenever  this  could  be 
put  into  effect  with  entire  convenience. 

On  looking  back,  though  unsuspicious  then  of  such  an  inten- 
tion on  his  part,  I  am  convinced  that  he  sounded  me  repeatedly 
afterward  on  the  subject  of  my  concurrence  in  his  desires  and 
plans.  It  would  have  been  better  for  him,  perhaps,  had  he 
openly  proposed  them.  The  shock  of  open  denunciation  or 
rebuff  might  have  brought  him  to  his  senses,  by  baring  the 
depths  of  his  inmost  motives,  which  he  managed  so  dexterously 
to  gloss  over  in  his  own  eyes.  Sophist  as  he  was,  he  needed  to 
hear  the  voice  of  truth  from  others,  that  he  might  discern  the 
snares  of  his  own  spirit  ;  as  harsh  winds  blow  away  the  accumu- 
lated leaves  that  hide  the  pitfalls  of  the  forest. 

From  this  time  his  interest  in  his  chemical  experiments 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BODVEKIE.  269 

to  decline,  and  the  fires  in  the  laboratory  above  my  head  were 
extinguished. 

I  missed  the  quick  firm  step  at  morn  and  night,  that  had  grown 
familiar  and  even  pleasant  to  my  ear,  and  the  stillness  of  the 
npper  chamber  seemed  almost  that  of  death. 


270  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVKKIE. 


CHAPTER  Y. 

SPRING  came  again,  and  the  captive  was  released  from  the 
prison  within  the  prison,  the  winter  chamber — compared  to  which 
the  summer  apartment,  filled  with  the  fresh  breath  of  heaven, 
seemed  luxury  indeed.  Even  the  poor  tortoise  seemed  to  recog- 
nize the  greeting  of  nature,  and  dragged  itself  to  bask  daily 
beneath  the  genial  skylight  with  its  wealth  of  noontide  sun- 
beams. 

From  the  outer  world,  with  other  sunny  influences,  came  fond 
and  pleasant  letters  to  me  from  my  only  two  correspondents.  Sir 
Eyerard  Howe's  portion  of  these  epistles  was  written  in  a  manly, 
earnest,  and  entertaining  style,  wholly  characteristic  of  the 
writer.  A  reader  would  have  confounded  the  lover  with  the 
friend,  had  he  been  unacquainted  with  the  true  relations  subsist- 
ing among  us,  and  given  to  the  vivid,  artistic  and  tender  letters 
of  Jasper  that  position  due  to  another. 

Let  me  mention  here  that  I  had  been  forbidden  to  communi- 
cate my  engagement  to  Jasper  for  the  present,  and  had  without 
a  question  obeyed  the  command.  It  is  wonderful  how  soon  the 
outside  habit  of  obedience  paralyzes  independence,  and  goes  to 
the  very  source  of  thought.  I  had  ceased  to  arraign  motives  or 
investigate  causes  ;  they  only  puzzled  me.  I  was  content  with 
the  irresponsibility  my  submission  brought  with  it,  and  had  in 
more  ways  than  one  "lain  down  my  neck  to  the  yoke  of  Bou- 
verie." 

To  these  letters  I  wrote  occasional  replies,  always  submitted  to 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVERIE. 

my  grandmother's  perusal  before  dispatched.  Those  to  Jasper 
Bouverie  were  directed  and  forwarded  by  Dr.  Quintil,  accom- 
panied, as  they  usually  were,  by  others,  which  formed  a  package. 
Those  to  Everard  Howe,  fewer  in  number,  more  restrained  in 
character,  were  directed  in  sequence  and  by  my  own  hand 
to  those  ports  of  which  he  had  given  me  a  list  before  leaving 
Bouverie. 

Edith  Howe,  his  sister,  had  I  knew  gone  to  the  continent  on  a 
tour  with  her  uncle,  Colonel  de  Courcy.  Everard  had  described 
her  as  a  slender,  beautiful  girl  of  sixteen,  with  great  sweetness, 
and  childlike  vivacity  of  character,  attributable  in  a  great  mea- 
sure to  her  early  mode  of  life.  She  was  the  youngest  of  six 
children,  all  of  whom,  with  the  exception  of  her  eldest  brother 
and  herself,  had  died  in  infancy,  and  was  the  petted  darling  of  her 
parents,  and  the  great  consolation  of  her  mother's  widowed 
existence. 

The  grave  and  stately  man  to  whose  care  she  passed  after  that 
mother's  death,  had  been,  like  most  persons  of  this  nature,  per- 
fectly ruled  by  and  fascinated  with  her  innocent,  confiding  gaiety, 
and  had  gone  in  his  indulgence  to  her  whims  and  caprices,  even 
beyond  the  original  spoiling  she  had  received.  A  thoroughly 
sweet  nature  however  can  never  be  entirely  spoiled  after  all, 
either  by  severity  or  overweening  indulgence.  The  experiment  so 
fatal  to  the  mean  and  the  commonplace,  is  seldom  more  than  a 
passing  inconvenience  or  trial  of  strength  to  the  sunny  and  elastic 
temperament  of  generosity  and  affection. 

So  Edith  Howe  was  only  a  little  odd  and  fanciful,  her  brother 
said,  but  infinitely  kind,  forgiving,  and  tenderhearted,  and  docile 
even,  when  the  slightest  semblance  of  authority  was  manifested. 
Her  inflexible  governess,  Miss  Rhoda  Montade  (or  some  such 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

name,  I  forget  exactly  what),  would  have  broken  her  birdlika 
spirit  into  inanity,  had  not  Colonel  de  Courcy  resolutely  main- 
tained her  right  to  be  gay,  impulsive,  a  little  foolish  even,  if  it 
made  her  happy,  so  that  she  never  transcended  the  true  bounds 
of  propriety  or  respect  for  others. 

It  was  from  this  childlike  personage  that  I  received  a  letter, 
dated  "Florence,  February,"  that  unveiled  the  truth  to  me  as  to 
the  fatal  hold  I  had  over  Jasper's  feelings,  and  snatched  a  veil 
from  my  own  never  to  be  replaced. 

I  had  before  received  her  congratulations  when  she  became 
aware  of  my  engagement  to  her  brother,  and  was  amused  at  the 
view  she  took,  naturally  enough  perhaps,  of  this  contemplated 
union.  It  was  evident  that  she  conceived  all  its  advantages  to  be 
on  one  side,  and  considered  her  the  most  fortunate  of  women,  who 
could  enlist  the  affections  of  her  idolized  relative. 

To  reply  to  this  letter  had  been  the  most  difficult  task  of  my 
life.  I  felt  a  struggling  indignation  as  I  wrote,  wholly  at  vari- 
ance with  the  commonplaces  I  was  forced  to  employ,  and  inconsis- 
tent with  the  tender  relations  that  I  felt  ought  to  exist  between 
us.  Her  letter  had  been  affectionate,  even  if  injudicious  and 
slightly  indelicate  ;  mine,  though  cold,  was  a  model  of  pro- 
priety. 

She  felt  that  something  had  been  wrong  in  hers,  but  evidently 
could  not  conjecture  what. 

"  I  fear,"  she  wrote,  "  my  letter  did  not  please  you  ;  your  reply 
seemed  to  me  constrained  ;  but  perhaps  I  had  painted  you  in  my 
imagination  differently  from  the  truth.  I  knew  that  you  were 
young,  and  I  supposed  all  young  people  must  be  gay,  careless,  im- 
pulsive, as  I  knew  myself  to  be.  I  forgot  that  you  had  never 
been  thrown  with  persons  of  your  own  age,  although  Everard  had 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  278 

told  me  this,  and  that  naturally  from  intercourse  with  older  per- 
fions,  you  must  have  acquired  much  of  their  gravity  and  dignity. 
Tell  me  that  it  is  this  habit  of  your  life  that  makes  you  write  so 
distantly  to  me,  dear  sister  Lilian,  for  such  I  already  wish  to  con- 
sider and  call  you,  and  that  you  are  not  offended  with  me,  or, 
worse  than  all,  indifferent  to  me.  I  wish  you  would  reassure  me 
about  this  matter  as  quickly  as  you  can.  And  now  let  me  tell 
you  of  a  little  adventure  I  have  had  recently,  in  which  you  are 
somewhat  interested. 

"It  has  been  our  habit  to  go  almost  daily  to  a  gallery  in 
Florence,  where  my  uncle  is  having  a  picture  copied.  He  is  de- 
voted to  art ;  but  I  grew  very  weary  after  a  while  looking  at  the 
same  paintings  all  the  time ;  and  transferred  my  interest  very  soon 
from  the  pictures  to  the  artists  employed  in  copying  them.  I 
made  the  acquaintance  of  such  a  sweet  woman — a  Miss  Steinforth, 
a  Dutch  lady,  who  speaks  a  little  English,  and  a  great  deal  better 
French  than  I  do.  She  is  copying  a  Madonna,  for  her  own 
amusement,  not  to  sell.  But  you  will  not  care  much  to  hear 
about  her  ;  she  is  a  little  passe"e,  as  the  saying  is — quite  thirty, 
although  looking  much  younger,  as  fair  women  often  do  ;  and  is 
soon  to  marry  one  Signor  Baldini,  who  has  recently  come  to  for- 
tune, after  having  been  long  a  master  of  drawing  in  Leyden, 
where  the  attachment  sprang  up  between  them.  Seated  next  to 
her,  I  remarked  the  handsomest  and  most  interesting  young  man 
I  ever  saw,  and,  bending  over  his  shoulder,  one  day — quite  unpef- 
ceived  by  him,  of  course — I  saw  the  word  '  Jasper '  traced  on  the 
edge  of  the  canvas  he  was  painting  on.  I  knew,  dear  Lilian, 
that  you  had  an  '  Uncle  Jasper,'  an  artist ;  but  I  supposed  him  to 
be  a  middle-aged  gentleman,  and  never  thought  of  his  identity  with 
this  quiet  youth.  In  truth,  his  strange  silence  struck  me  at  last 

12* 


274  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOT7VEEIE. 

even  painfully,  and  I  whispered  one  day  to  Miss  Steinforth, '  .Does 
the  young  man  next  to  you  never  speak  ?  I  have  seen  you  pass 
over  your  sketches  to  him,  and  he  returns  them  without  a  com- 
ment. Is  he  dumb,  or  only  stupid  and  impolite  ?' 

"  Then  came  an  explanation  that  convinced  me  this  was  the 
mute  Uncle  Jasper,  of  whom  you  had  spoken  to  Everard,  and  he 
in  turn  to  me  ;  and  so  I  insisted  on  an  immediate  introduction, 
and  we  shook  hands,  which  seemed  to  surprise  him  at  first,  until 
I,  in  my  impulsive  way,  told  him  why  I  was  attracted  by  his 
name,  mentioning — although,  of  course,  he  knew  it  before — the 
engagement  between  my  brother  and  his  niece  as  the  cause. 

"  I  supposed  at  the  moment  that  he  was  mortified  that  he  could 
not  speak  to  me,  for  I  never  saw  a  man  turn  so  pale.  The  brush 
fell  from  his  fingers  in  his  embarrassment,  and  Miss  Steinforth  re- 
covered it  for  him  without  attracting  his  notice.  Just  then  uncle 
called  me  a  little  impatiently,  I  thought ;  and  I  flew  to  him,  wish- 
ing to  acquaint  him  with  my  discovery  as  soon  as  possible,  so  that 
he  too  might  form  the  acquaintance  of  your  uncle  Jasper,  as  well 
as  excuse  my  delay. 

"  Looking  back,  I  saw  that  the  young  gentleman  had  leaned 
his  head  on  his  arm,  and  it  then  occurred  to  me  that  he  might  be 
ill,  or  that  I  might  have  said  something  to  pain  him,  as  I  often  do, 
quite  unintentionally,  of  course  ;  but  I  cannot  recall  anything  of 
the  sort.  Do  ask  him,  dear  Lilian  !  He  has  never  returned  to 
the  gallery  since  that  day,  and  Miss  Steinforth  says  he  has  left 
Florence  for  a  time.  She  thinks  he  has  unexpected  business,  as 
his  atelier  remains  unchanged,  and  that  he  will  soon  return.  I  do 
hope  this  is  the  truth,  and  that  he  does  not,  as  I  have  feared  since, 
disapprove  of  your  marriage  ;  though  what  any  one  could  see  to 
object  to  in  my  brother,  I  cannot  conceive.  He  is,  in  my  estima- 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVEKIE.  275 

tion,  the  most  perfect  of  his  sex,  and,  of  course,  in  jours  also,  dear 
Lilian  ;  so  explain  this,  if  you  can." 

The  letter  ran  on  for  pages  in  this  girlish  strain  ;  but  the  sub- 
stance to  me  was  in  the  extract  I  have  made. 

I  replied  to  it  kindly  and  promptly,  directing  my  letter  to 
Taunton  Tower,  as  I  was  advised  to  do  ;  but  I  carried  about  with 
me  a  sick  and  sore  heart  from  this  tune,  and  the  chain  I  had  forged 
pressed  heavily  about  me. 

"  I  had  written  to  Jasper  of  your  engagement,"  my  grandmother 
said,  on  reading  Edith's  letter,  "  shortly  before  this  was  written. 
I  would  the  shock  could  have  been  made  more  gentle  to  him  ;  but 
it  is  over  now,  and  he  will  bear  it  like  a  man.  This  giving  away 
our  dear  ones,"  she  added,  with  a  sad  smile,  "is  one  of  the  most 
bitter  necessities  of  our  earthly  condition.  In  heaven  all  this  will 
be  changed,  dear  Lilian." 

I  did  not  answer  her  ;  I  only  pressed  my  hand  to  my  breast, 
and  groaned — an  irrepressible  groan — and  a  strong  hand  seemed 
to  grasp  my  throat. 

Oh,  often,  often,  since  that  hour,  has  that  iron  hand  returned 
with  its  invisible  pressure,  irresistible  as  unseen.  Often,  in  the 
halls  of  gaiety  or  pride — in  church  or  concert,  or  lecture-room — 
in  quiet  chamber,  in  crowded  thoroughfare — often,  through  long, 
solitary  night,  has  that  grasp  of  steel  maintained  its  inexorable 
hold,  as  though  the  angel  with  whom  Jacob  wrestled  were  present 
to  me,  strong  only  in  endurance,  not  resistance. 

In  proportion  as  my  restless  heart  swayed  me  to  dissatis- 
faction and  melancholy,  did  my  intellect  reach  out  for  new 
resources.  More  than  ever  did  I  feel  the  charm — the  necessity, 
almost — of  my  grandfather's  society,  in  the  desire  to  escape  from 
myself. 


276  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

I  have  elsewhere  said  that  the  very  difference  of  our  views  and 
tastes  about  many  subjects,  wholly  similar  as  they  were  concerning 
others,  formed  a  source  of  interest  and  variety  that  never  flagged 
between  us. 

My  mind  had,  I  think,  something  of  the  "  antique"  in  its  very 
construction ;  or,  perhaps,  my  early  reading  had  impressed  me 
deeply  and  indelibly.  I  idolized  the  type  the  Greeks  have  left 
us  of  the  lofty,  the  pure,  the  ideal,  whether  in  poetry  or  art. 
There  was  something  that  thrilled  me  in  all  connected  with  this 
people.  I  could  almost  believe  that  I  had  lived  among  them  hi 
some  former  state  of  existence,  so  vividly  did  their  characteristics 
stand  forth  to  me  from  the  background  of  time. 

Not  so  my  grandfather.  He  laughed  at  the  quaint  ignorance 
of  those  "  refined  savages,"  as  he  called  the  ancient  Greeks  and 
Romans.  He  disdained  all  usages  founded  on  old  customs. 

"  Go  back  to  the  Jews  at  once,  if  you  want  true  men  of  nature's 
molding — bad,  bold,  unscrupulous  ;  grander,  though,  than  any 
that  lived  after  them,  if  truth  be  told,"  he  said. 

"  Give  me  Moses,  David,  Solomon,  Joseph — an  exception — 
Jacob  even,  if  you  will  have  specimens  of  antiquity  ;  but  spare  me 
your  flofid  orators,  your  wreath-crowned  generals,  your  philoso- 
phers in  a  nutshell,  your  gentlemen  athletes,  in  the  category  of 
true  greatness.  And,  as  for  modern  times,  compare  Epaminondas 
to  Washington,  Alexander  to  Napoleon,  Homer  to  Sir  Walter 
Scott,  Socrates  to  Christ ;  and  where  do  you  leave  these  ancients  ? 
Immeasurably  behind  1" 

"  Christ,  grandfather,  was  inspired  if  no  more — even  you  will 
acknowledge  this  ;  he  is  out  of  the  question  ;  nor  can  we  justly 
call  him  modern  !  Washington  was  chosen  for  his  mission,  there- 
fore irresistible.  Napoleon,  too,  was  a  scourge  in  the  hand  of 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  277 

the   Almighty,   we   cannot  doubt  ;  yet  as  men,  as  gentlemen, 
what  comparison  between  him  and  Alexander." 

"  Alexander  !"  he  scoffed  ;  "  a  braggart,  a  mere  adventurer. 
Straws  show  how  the  wind  blows  ;  a  man's  character  is  revealed 
most  clearly  often  by  trifles.  Remember  the  trick  about  Buce- 
phalus ;  the  effort  to  claim  descent  from  Jupiter  Ammon,  even 
at  the  sacrifice  of  his  mother's  fame  ;  the  pretending  to  drink  the 
cup  from  the  hand  of  Philip,  his  physician — you  know  the  anec- 
dote— I  have  never  doubted  he  threw  the  contents  behind  his 
couch.  It  was  a  shabby  fraud." 

"  Oh,  grandfather,  that  was  such  a  noble  thing  !  I  could  not 
bear  to  discredit  it.  You  might  as  well  ask  me  to  disbelieve  Sir 
Philip  Sidney's  surrender  of  the  draught  of  water  to  the  dying 
soldier.  It  is  beautiful — it  is  comforting  to  believe  these  things !" 

"  Then  the  slaying  of  Clitus,"  he  continued  ;  "  the  wanton 
destruction  of  Tyre,  just  as  though  a  bad  boy  were  to  break  up  a 
hive  of  bees,  for  the  mere  fun  of  the  thing,  more  than  the  love  of 
honey  ;  the  absurd  cruelties  afterward  (absurd  because  unneces- 
sary) ;  and  to  add  another  instance  of  his  cunning,  his  collusion 
with  Jaddus,  high  priest  of  Jerusalem,  when  he  pretended  to  have 
had  a  vision  confirmed  by  the  conduct  of  this  worthy  individual, 
who  betrayed,  by  previous  concert  of  course,  his  people  and 
stronghold  of  Jerusalem  into  the  hands  of  the  usurper  I  These 
things  and  many  more  rise  before  me  when  I  think  of  Alexander 
— the  sot — the  sensualist  !"  He  paused,  then  continued  : 

"  How  was  it  with  Napoleon  ?  He  quieted  domestic  anarchy, 
at  least ;  he  crushed  foreign  despotism,  he  embellished  his  country, 
he  repelled  its  foes,  and  but  for  that  great  mistake,  the  Russian 
campaign  " 

"  Great  injustice,  grandfather  !"  I  interrupted. 


278  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEKIE. 

"Call  it  what  you  will,  child.  All  unsuccessful  steps  are 
erroneous,  of  course  ;  but  for  that  he  might  have  been  the 
Emperor  of  Europe." 

"  Leave  out  England,  grandfather." 

"  I  do — I  do,"  he  said,  with  sudden  enthusiasm  ;  for  he  loved 
his  country  to  his  heart's  core.  "  Should  the  whole  political 
world  be  overwhelmed,  England  would  be  the  Ararat,  whose 
steep  would  appear  above  the  waters  for  the  Ark  of  human 
safety  to  anchor  against.  She  is  a  volcano,  child  ;  fierce  fires 
consume  her,  but  no  foreign  enemy  can  work  her  injury  ;  and 
after  all,  an  occasional  explosion  will  throw  off  the  boiling  lava, 
and  all  go  right  again — and  the  mountain  stand  through  time." 

"  I,  too,  am  English,"  I  said  ;  "  and  feel  the  stirring  of 
ancient  blood  in  my  veins  ;  but,  oh,  grandfather  !  this  new  land 
of  ours  is  so  much  dearer  to  me  I" 

"  Little  renegade,"  he  said,  smiling  archly  on  me  ;  "  Democrat, 
Filibuster,  fit  descendant  of  the  Norman  pirate  ;  answer  me, 
Why  do  you  love  this  land  ?" 

"For  its  magnificence,  its  strength,  its  freedom — its  wide 
spread  happiness — its  unequalled  beauty  !" 

I  stood  beside  him  as  I  spoke,  and  looked  into  his  face  almost 
tearfully  ;  for  the  theme  moved  me. 

"You  are  mistaken  as  to  one  thing,"  he  said.  "  In  Europe, 
where  men  accept  their  positions,  they  are  happier  than  here.  No 
repining  there — no  discontent,  because  " 

"  No  hope  of  change,"  I  interrupted.  "  Is  it  not  so,  grand- 
father ?" 

"  Well,  perhaps  so  ;  but  better  thus  :  permanence  is  next  to 
happiness,  you  know  ;  my  oracle,  Mr.  Carlyle,  says  so." 

"  It  depends  upon  what  that  permanence  is,"  I  made 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBD5.          279 

low.     "  It  is  the  worst  of  some  conditions  ;  it  seems  to  me  that 
they  are  fixed." 

"  I  know — I  know,"  he  muttered,  with  agitation. 

"  I  am  speaking  generally,"  I  said,  catching  at  the  interpreta- 
tion he  evidently  placed  upon  my  words.  "  Not  individually ; 
but,  oh,  grandfather  1  what  a  glorious  thing  it  is,  that  each  man 
should  have  his  opportunity  of  distinction  !  When  we  think  of 
the  old  half  dead  Brahmin  government,  what  shocks  us  half  so 
much  as  that  "  Mark  of  Caste,"  to  which  all  its  decay  can  be 
traced  ?  No  change — no  progress,  no  development  can  come  to 
a  nation  so  governed.  I  like  rotation,  grandfather. 

This  is  but  an  instance  of  the  manner  in  which  he  permitted 
me  to  contend  with  him,  however  ineffectually,  and  maintain  my 
own  opinions.  I  think  I  am  constituted  strangely.  Those  that  I 
love  have  little  power  to  sway  my  estimate  of  things.  I  would 
sacrifice  my  life  for  any  of  these  ;  but  not  my  convictions.  In- , 
deed,  I  have  never  regarded  belief  of  any  kind  as  dependent  on 
the  will,  when  pure  and  unprejudiced.  It  is  involuntary  a* 
existence  itself. 


280          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIB. 


CHAPTER  VL 

As  spring  advanced,  a  change  I  could  not  account  for,  occurred 
in  that  lowly  member  of  the  household  of  Bouverie,  the  reptile 
"  Evil  Merodach."  What  Robinson  Crusoe's  parrot  was  to  him, 
was  this  poor  wretch  to  me  in  that  solitary  existence  of  ours.  It 
is  perhaps  the  worst,  most  morbid  feature  of  such  a  life  that 
small  matters  assume  too  much  importance,  interest  one  too  vitally. 
Convents  are  agitated  to  the  centre,  it  is  said,  by  the  breaking  of 
an  altar  utensil,  or  the  construction  of  a  new  dish  ;  and  bitter 
animosities  kindled  by  the  least  preference  manifested  by  the 
superior  to  one  over  another.  So  hi  that  monastic  life  of  ours, 
the  smallest  event  was  matter  of  discussion  or  consideration,  and 
the  welfare  of  the  meanest  creature  invested  with  unreasonable 
importance. 

I  had  formed  a  strong  regard  for  that  poor,  uncouth  tortoise, 
connected  as  it  was  with  my  grandfather's  misfortunes,  and  em- 
balmed by  a  sort  of  romance  which  I  could  not  dissever  from  the 
Russian  prison,  the  lyre,  and  the  sacrificed  master  of  whom  no- 
thing but  the  fragment  of  a  name  remained — Evan  Meredith. 

The  strange  manifestation,  too,  on  the  part  of  the  creature  of 
intelligence  and  attachment  had  deeply  interested  me.  It  seemed 
at  war  with  its  natural  torpor  and  apathy  that  it  should  come  so 
freely  to  the  familiar  sound  of  the  lyre  ;  or  even  of  its  own  name 
when  uttered  in  musical  accents,  pitched  in  imitation  of  the  in 
etrument  with  which  its  existence  seemed  bound  up. 

I  had  overcome  my  repugnance  to  its  reptile  hideousness  and 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  281 

wmld  bear  to  see  the  misshapen  head  thrust  almost  into  my  hand 
for  crumbs  of  cake,  which  I  rarely  forgot  to  bring  with  me,  and 
the  grotesque  rejoicing  before  rain-time,  accompanied  as  it  was 
by  all  sorts  of  mincing  steps  and  affected  airs,  never  ceased  to 
amuse  me.  I  even  fancied  that  Merodach  had  a  peculiar  joy  in 
my  presence,  evidenced  by  a  more  rapid  step  when  I  summoned 
him  than  when  Fabius  or  my  grandfather  called  him,  and  a  sort 
of  fawning  motion  of  the  head.  All  this  ceased  suddenly.  The 
creature  became  dull  and  dejected,  took  its  food  in  larger  quanti- 
ties, and  at  longer  intervals  than  before,  avoided  the  sunlight 
under  the  glass  where  it  had  loved  so  much  to  bask,  and  remained 
most  of  the  time  sullenly  ensconced  in  its  tub,  a  safe  retreat  from 
molestation  of  all  sort. 

"  Your  poor  tortoise  is  sick,  grandfather,"  I  said  one  day,  "or 
perhaps  dying  of  old  age,  for  you  have  no  means  that  I  know,  of 
ascertaining  its  present  term  of  life,  and  it  may  have  been  one 
hundred  and  fifty  years  old  when  you  first  made  its  acquaintance." 

"  Evil  is  not  a  very  old  fellow  I  know,  Lilian,  from  unmistak- 
able signs ;  he  is  sick,  however — mentally,  if  not  physically  ;  his 
soul,  as  you  call  it,  has  departed." 

"Do  you  mean  that  a  turtle  can  be  demented,  grandfather,  or 
become  imbecile  ?  Elephants  do,  they  say ;  and  I  have  seen  a 
cat  so  eccentric  as  to  be  probably  deranged.  But  as  to  soul, 
grandfather  " 

"  Reason,  then,"  he  interrupted  impatiently,  "the  guiding 
principle  of  intelligence,  whatever  that  may  be — one  name  is  as 
good  as  another.  '  Evil '  has  lost  that,  and  is  now  no  more  than 
animated  dust.  A  most  convincing  proof  to  me  of  the  truth 
of  materialism,  and  the  transient  and  conditional  nature  of 
mind." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUTEBIE. 

Just  at  that  moment  poor  Merodach,  as  if  to  illustrate  hia 
master's  remark,  thrust  forth  his  head,  covered  with  a  plastei. 

"  He  has  been  wounded,"  I  said,  "  and  Fabius  is  trying  to  cure 
him  ;  I  suppose  that  is  what  ails  him,  grandfather." 

"  Fabius  has  renewed  the  dressing,  which  constantly  comes  off 
in  the  tub,  that  is  all.  The  wound  was  inflicted  intentionally, 
Lilian  (though  I  confess  with  reluctance  on  my  part),  to  carry 
out  a  great  principle  of  science,  of  metaphysics  even.  Give 
me  credit  for  considerable  self-sacrifice  in  this  matter,  if  yon 
please. 

"  I  had  been  studying  Redii,  an  eminent  naturalist,  child,  and 
found  that  by  removing  the  brain  of  a  tortoise,  he  had  convinced 
himself  of  the  identity  of  mind  and  matter.  The  question  is  so 
curious,  and  this  species  the  only  one  on  which  the  experiment  has 
ever  been  successfully  made,  owing  to  some  obtuseness  of  the 
nervous  system,  I  suppose,  that  enables  it  to  survive  the  opera- 
tion, that  I  was  tempted  to  try  it — you  have  no  idea  how  I  have 
been  bored  for  want  of  an  object  lately,  since  my  materials  for 
chemical  experiments  have  all  given  out — and  the  result  is  de- 
termination of  the  exact  limit  between  reason  and  instinct.  Yon 
see  the  animal  still  eats,  seeks  the  water  ;  these  things  are  instinc- 
^ive,  but  it  no  longer  knows  the  voice  of  its  keeper,  or  is  alive  to 
sentiments  of  gratitude  and  affection  ;  these  things  appertain  to 
reason.  Now,  reason  being  extinguished  through  the  medium  of 
the  brain,  its  stronghold,  the  animal  retains  only  the  mechanical. 
—But  what  is  the  matter,  Lilian  I  Good  God  !  crying,  and  for 
what  ?" 

"Poor,  poor  creature,  is  this  your  end?"  I  could  not  help  ex- 
claiming in  a  voice  broken  with  sobs. 

"  A  very  glorious  end,  Lilian,  for  a  reptile  to  meet.     A 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BO  UV  ERIE.  283 

famous  death  shall  be  Merodach's.  Think  of  it !  Science  has 
made  a  new  convert  through  this  insignificant  creature.  I  am 
convinced  now  of  what  I  doubted  before,  the  possibility  of  laying 
down  the  exact  limits  of  instinct,  which  seems  so  often  merged 
into  reason  as  to  deceive  us  sometimes  in  their  identity.  Ani- 
mals have  both,  that  is  evident — soul,  as  you  call  it  in  men,  only 
because  greater,  more  universal " 

"  Do  not  let  us  argue  now,  grandfather,  I  am  not  equal  to  it. 
It  was  a  dreadful  thing  to  do,  to  torture  your  poor  little  faithful 
companion  in  adversity,  the  creature  that  knew  you,  that  loved 
you,  that  confided  in  you,  that  came  at  your  call,  that  fed  from 
your  hand,  that  comforted  you  in  prison  !  I  hate  this  terrible 
thing  you  call  science,  that  makes  life  a  mere  plaything.  Why, 
this  creature  was  bound  to  you  by  sacred  ties  1  There  have  been 
murders  from  passion  and  despair,  less  cruel  in  the  eyes  of  God 
than  this  deed.  To  take  away  its  limited  sense,  to  make  an  idiot 
of  it,  to  torture  it,  your  little  benefactor  !  How  could  you  do  it, 
grandfather  ;  how  dared  you  to  do  such  a  thing  ?" 

He  rose,  he  paced  the  room,  his  lips  were  white  with  rage,  his 
eye  blazed  like  a  phosphoric  match  kindled  in  darkness.  Yet  he 
was  silent.  This  was  but  for  a  moment.  He  suddenly  com- 
manded himself,  and  approached  me  with  his  brilliant  sardonic 
laugh,  speaking  through  his  set  teeth,  walking  as  if  he  would 
walk  over  me. 

"  Do  you  bewail  thus  the  fate  of  every  chicken  your  grand 
mother's  cook  wrings  the  neck  of  ?  Do  you  reproach  Dr.  Quin- 
til  thus  bitterly  when  he  orders  a  lamb  to  be  slaughtered  for  the 
table  ?  Or  do  you  reserve  for  me  the  stores  of  your  sentimental 
humanity,  your  puerile  compassion  !" 

"  This  is    i  different  case,  grandfather,"  I  eaid,  rising  in  my 


284  THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE. 

turn,  and  wiping  my  eyes  indignantly.     "  Yet,  I  feel  that  I 
transcended  my  province  (you  do  well  to  remind  me  of  it)  in 
speaking  to  you  thus.     Forgive  me,  and  let  me  go." 

tie  had  taken  my  hand  as  I  spoke. 

"  And  when  will  you  come  again,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  mood  and  manner  ;  and  in  that  tremulous  tone  that 
always  moved  me  so  vitally  ;  "  when  will  you — forgive  me  ?" 

"  Not — not — until  Merodach  is  dead,  grandfather,"  I  answered, 
repelling  the  tide  of  tenderness  that  surged  through  my  bosom  as 
I  spoke,  and  made  me  feel  almost  like  falling  at  his  feet. 

"  But  my  experiment  is  incomplete,  Lilian.  Redii  says : 
'  The  tortoise  will  live  six  months  after  its  brain  has  been  re- 
moved ;'  and  a  week  only  has  elapsed,  since  this  operation  was 
performed.  This  is  unreasonable." 

"  Farewell,  then,  grandfather — my  decision  is  taken,"  and  I 
turned  to  leave  the  room. 

"  You  only  want  to  gain  your  point,  like  all  women,  Lilian," 
he  said,  swinging  on  his  heel,  and  walking  away.  "  This  is  sheer 
tyranny.  Go,  if  you  will,  and  stay  while  you  choose  ;  I  hope  I 
shall  be  able  to  live  for  a  time  without  yon." 

"  I  only  want  to  see  the  poor  creature  out  of  his  pain,  grand- 
father ;  that  is  all !  When  Fabius  brings  me  Merodach  dead,  I 
will  return — never  before  then." 

I  paused  at  the  door  to  speak  these  words.  He  advanced  to- 
ward me,  looking  steadily  in  my  face,  as  if  he  sought  to  intimi- 
date me. 

''  Have  I  heard  yon  rightly  ?"  he  inquired.  "  Never  ;  was 
this  the  word  you  employed  ?" 

"  Never,  so  help  me  God,"  I  said,  firmly  lifting  up  my  right 
hand  in  token  of  the  pledge.  Then  dropping  it,  I  added  :  "  For 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  285 

your  sake,  grandfather,  I  make  this  resolve,  as  well  as  for  my 
own.  Your  victim  must  be  released  before  we  meet  again,  in 
justice  to  all  parties." 

I  passed  away  from  his  astonished  gaze.  As  I  closed  the  door 
I  heard  him  laughing  and  muttering  derisively  ;  bnt  that  night 
Pabius  stood  beside  me,  with  the  dead  tortoise  lying  on  his  hand, 
and  placed  a  slip  of  paper  on  mine,  on  which  was  written  in  that 
small  clear  character,  I  knew  to  be  his  own — these  words  from 
my  grandfather. 

"  Come  to-morrow,  as  usual ;  the  obstacle  is  removed.  May 
no  other  ever  interpose  between  us.  Life  is  death  without  my 

chad." 

Without  an  allusion  to  the  subject  of  discord,  we  met  again. 
A  week  or  two  later  the  prepared  shell  of  poor  Merodach  with 
its  weird,  syllabic  inscription  was  hanging  on  the  wall  by  the  un- 
couth lyre  which  had  governed  him  in  life — mute  from  that  hour ! 

My  grandfather  had  said  that  small  acts  indicated  a  man's 
character,  and  I  believed  with  him.  Carrying  out  this  idea, 
what  did  not  the  wanton  destruction  of  the  sole,  constant  com- 
panion he  had  known  for  years  suggest  to  me  ?  for  he  had  told 
me  what  a  sense  of  companionship  even  his  mute  presence 
afforded  him  during  long  sleepless  nights  ;  and  how  pleasant  was 
the  sound  to  his  ear,  of  the  creature  stirring  the  water  in  his  tub, 
or  dragging  his  slow  feet  across  the  floor  in  the  absence  of  other 
noises. 

I  could  not  bear  to  follow  out  the  clue  thus  thrown  down.  I 
could  not  bear  to  imagine  the  terrific  past  1  I  closed  my  eyes 
upon  it  all,  and  again  resigned  myself  to  that  delicious  com- 
panionship, in  which  my  wounded  feelhgs  found  their  sweet 
refuge.  X*" 


286  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

Yet  not  without  the  frequent  thought,  "  What  will  become  of 
him  when  I  am  gone  ?  Who  will  console  him  when  my  life  is 
removed  from  his  ?  How  will  he  bear  the  knowledge  that  very 
soon  his  eyes  shall  rest  on  my  face  no  more  ?  G  od  pity  my  poor 
grandfather  I" 


BOOK  FIFTH. 


"  Oh,  touch  it  not,  Philario, 
Oh,  touch  it  not,  this  yellow  pestilence 
Laid  waste  my  Eden." 

FAZIO  (Jfilman). 

"  Mark  me,  Clotilda, 

And  mark  me  well,  I  am  no  desperate  wretch, 
Who  borrows  an  excuse  from  shameful  passion, 
I  am  a  wretched  but  a  spotless  wife." 

MATVBIN  (Bertram). 

"  Whither  my  heart  has  gone,  there  follows  my  hand,  and  not  elsewhere ; 
For  where  the  heart  goes  before,  like  a  lamp,  and  illumines  its  pathway,, 
Many  things  are  made  clear,  that  else  lie  hidden  in  darkness." 

EVANQELJNK  (LonQfellov} 


BOOK      FIFTH. 

CHAPTER  I. 

BISHOP  CLA  *E  came  as  usual  in  the  month  of  May,  bringing  with 
him  the  small  package  of  gold  that  was  remitted  semi-annually 
from  England  through  him  to  my  grandmother,  its  ostensible  re- 
cipient. She  showed  me  this  before  transmitting  it  to  my  grand- 
father. 

"  How  much  this  would  purchase,  Lilian  !"  she  said,  "  and  we 
need  many  things  that  we  must  still  do  without." 

"  But  this  is  legally  yours,  grandmother." 

"  Not  morally,  Lilian  ;  therefore  I  must  not  touch  it ;  and  the 
new  piano,  and  the  carpet  for  the  dining-room,  and  twenty  other 
needful  things,  must  remain  matters  of  anticipation  still.  Tliis 
gold,  which  might  surround  our  lonely  lot  with  comforts,  goes  to 
feed  that  fierce  furnace  that  roars  so  dismally  over  our  heads,  like 
the  fires  of  hell,  Lilian  1" 

I  had  seldom  seen  her  so  excited  about  temporal  matters  as  on 
this  occasion. 

"  Take  it  to  him,"  she  said,  lifting  the  package  from  the  table, 
and  extending  it  to  me  ;  "  and,  if  you  choose,  ask  him  for  what 
you  want.  Natural  affection  may  for  once  restrain  his  self-in- 
dulgence." 

"  I  will  remonstrate  with  him,"  I  said,  "  on  the  injustice  of  his 
course.  I  will  represent  your  patient  care  and  economy  " 

"Do  nothing  of  the  sort,"  she  interrupted,  "if  you  value  his 

13  *» 


290  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

affection,  Ms  esteem  ;  he  would  never  forgive  you — perhaps  drive 
you  from  him  ignontiniously." 

"I  have  spoken  to  him  very  plainly  on  many  subjects,"  I  re« 
joined  ;  "  and  once  or  twice  I  have  offended  him,  I  know,  but  he 
has  always  forgiven  me  freely,  frankly." 

"  This  is  a  different  affair.  He  amuses  himself  with  your  inde- 
pendence in  discussion — he  has  told  me  so  ;  but  a  matter  of  such 
delicacy  you  must  not  venture  to  approach." 

Thus  warned,  I  sought  his  presence,  and,  after  delivering  the 
package  of  gold,  which  he  received  with  the  glee  of  a  child  made 
happy  by  a  roll  of  candies,  I  ventured  to  prefer  my  request,  intro- 
ducing the  subject  nearest  my  heart  in  a  very  artistic  manner,  as  I 
thought. 

"  Grandfather,  you  have  never  heard  me  play,"  I  said. 

"  No,  child  ;  how  should  I,  with  my  sedentary  habits  ?  The 
mountain  will  not  come  to  Mahomet,  and  Mahomet  cannot  go  to 
the  mountain,  you  know ;  but  your  singing  pleases  me.  It 
reaches  me  from  below,  sometimes." 

"Ah,  I  did  not  know  that  my  voice  was  so  piercing.  True,  I 
do  sing  very  often  without  the  piano,  of  late,  in  my  grandmother's 
room,  whence  the  sound  reaches  you  readily.  Our  old  instrument 
is  ao  unmusical  1  It  shrieks  out,  when  I  strike  it,  as  if  it  was  hurt, 
and  I  can  but  pity  the  tortured  keys.  I  expect  to  see  the  spirit 
of  Clementi — its  maker,  you  remember — rise  to  avenge  its  wrongs. 
some  day.  I  am  quite  superstitious  about  abusing  the  poor  old 
spinnet  any  longer." 

"  Harpsichord,  child — give  it  the  true  name.  It  was  a  very 
grand  one  in  its  day.  Well,  well,  I  suppose  you  want  a  new  one. 
I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  gratify  you  just  now.  I  need  what 
means  I  have  for  important  purposes,  sustained,  as  I  am,  you 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          291 

know,  almost  entirely  by  that  costly  remedy,  '  the  elixir  of  gold.1 
I  shall  have  to  make  a  new  supply,  before  very  long,  for  see, 
Lilian,"  he  said,  lifting  the  vial  before  my  eyes  from  its  case  on 
the  marble  slab  beside  him,  "  it  is  more  than  half  gone,  and  it  will 
take  all  this  gold  to  make  a  new  supply.  Yet,  to  show  you  that 
I  am  no  miser,  as  my  refusal  to  comply  with  your  request  might 
make  you  think,  I  will  share  with  you  the  inestimable  privilege  I 
have  extended  to  no  one  else,  and  you  shall  drink  with  me  here- 
after, when  you  will,  the  draught  of  life." 

We  were  sitting  in  the  large  circular  hall,  lit  by  the  great  sky- 
light— the  sides  of  which  opened  within,  like  those  of  the  cabin  of 
a  ship,  making  no  change  in  the  aspect  of  the  roof  without — and 
through  the  dropped  sashes,  the  soft  May  wind  crept  wooingly, 
stirring  the  long,  sable-silvered  locks  of  the  prisoner  ;  while  the 
glory  of  the  vernal  sun  gilded  his  pale,  refined  features.  I  shall 
never  forget  his  appearance  as  he  stood  before  me  that  morning, 
holding  the  flask  of  amber  light  in  one  hand,  and  the  slender 
Venetian  glass  he  used  for  this  draught  daintily  above  in  the 
other,  dressed  in  his  close-fitting  black  velvet  robe,  like  some  weird 
Italian  doctor,  offering,  perhaps,  an  antidote  for  poison,  or  essaying 
new  combinations  of  deadly  properties  for  one  of  the  "  Medici." 

I  waved  the  glass  aside. 

"  No,  grandfather,"  I  said,  laughing,  and  looking  into  his  face, 
"keep  your  precious  elixir  for  those  who  need  it.  I  have  life 
enough  in  my  veins  without  any  assistance  from  science." 

His  brow  suddenly  darkened,  and  his  eyes  sparkled.  His  white 
teeth  gleamed. 

"  You  are  afraid  of  me,  girl,"  he  said,  "  like  all  the  rest ;  you 
doubt,  you  discredit  what  you  cannot  comprehend.  Be  it  so  !" 

He  was  turning  away,  when  my  hand  arrested  him.     His  words 


292  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

had  struck  one  of  the  subtilest  springs  of  my  being.  I  was  not  to 
be  defied. 

"  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,"  I  replied,  "  and  you  shall  see  that  I 
am  not.  Give  me  the  glass — now  pour." 

"  If  I  knew  it  were  poison  itself  I  would  drink  it  now,"  I 
thought,  "rather  than  he  should  judge  me  thus." 

"  Afraid  of  you,  grandfather  ?  Oh,  no  I  that  could  never  be  1" 
I  added,  aloud  ;  and  I  received  the  glass  into  which  the  flashing 
fluid  had  been  carefully  dropped,  with  a  smile  of  confidence. 

As  I  did  so,  Fabius  gave,  for  the  first  time  since  I  had  known 
him,  symptoms  of  being  something  more  than  a  mere  automaton — 
signs  even  of  alarming  vitality.  He  stepped  forward  from  his 
obscure  corner,  his  usually  imperturbable  face  was  agitated  ;  and, 
standing  behind  his  master,  he  waved  his  hands  wildly  up  and 
down,  in  a  menacing  and  deprecating  manner. 

I  looked  at  him  with  something  of  derision,  his  agitation  seemed 
so  unnecessary  and  pitiable,  unwonted  as  it  was.  I  grasped  the 
slender  glass,  inhaled  for  a  moment  the  rich,  almond-like  perfume 
of  its  contents,  raised  it  to  my  lips,  and  drank  them  off,  with  a 
steady  eye  fixed  on  my  grandfather's  face. 

I  was  acting  out,  certainly,  that  discredited  anecdote  of  Alex- 
ander and  his  physician. 

The  draught  coursed  through  my  veins  like  liquid  fire.  I 
dropped  the  glass — it  shivered  in  fragments  at  my  feet.  At  the 
same  tune  my  grandfather's  face  faded  from  my  sight,  and  I  heard 
his  voice  speaking  as  at  a  great  distance. 

"  Child,"  it  said,  "  did  you  ever  drink  gold  before  ?  The  es- 
sence of  five  sovereigns  was  in  that  glass  !  Speak  !  How  dees 
it  sit  with  you  ?  Ha  !  can  it  be  the  dose  was  overstrong  ?  Lilian, 
you  are  ill — fainting.  Help,  Fabius,  she  is  dying  !" 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  293 

I  heard  no  more.  I  seemed  in  a  vast  room  of  purest  crystal, 
domed  and  pillared  with  glass,  and  in  the  centre  of  which  was  a 
great  vessel  of  the  same  transparent  material,  containing  a  golden, 
never  resting  serpent,  with  a  crimson  crest,  and  diamond  eyes. 
Flowers  and  fruit  of  the  most  delicious  odors  and  tempting  hues, 
grew  freely  in  this  crystal  hall ;  and  beautiful  girls,  waving  long 
wreaths  of  flowers,  glided  in  and  out  between  the  plants  hi  a  sort 
of  slow  mystic  measure. 

The  whole  scene  was  flooded  with  intense  sunlight,  as  was  my 
being  with  perfect  and  ineffable  delight  and  dreamy  enjoyment. 
Presently  low  strains  of  music  seemed  to  fill  the  air  ;  the  har- 
mony increased  in  volume,  swelled,  loudened,  burst  into  a  crash 
of  stupendous  melody,  and  the  scene  dissolved  as  a  dream  melts 
away  into  the  harsh  reality  of  daylight.  My  senses  were  re- 
stored, yet  still  I  lay  bound  hand  and  foot,  in  a  pleasing 
lethargy. 

"  Her  pulse  returns,  she  is  saved  1"  I  heard  Dr.  Quintil  say. 
"  Do  not  disturb  her,  madam  ;  be  perfectly  composed.  I  will  re- 
turn promptly  with  further  remedies." 

My  grandmother  obeyed  him,  checking  her  intention  evidently 
of  advancing  to  me,  and  returning  to  her  chair  ;  and  a  conversa- 
tion, perhaps  interrupted  by  his  presence,  was,  after  he  left  the 
room,  resumed  between  the  speakers. 

"  It  shall  not  be  repeated,"  I  heard  my  grandfather  say, 
in  his  clear  and  tremulous  tones.  "  Do  not  deprive  me,  madam, 
of  my  greatest  consolation.  I  promise  you  it  shall  never  be 
repeated." 

He  spoke  as  a  penitential  child  might  plead.  Her  reply  was 
sad  and  stern. 

"  If  I  could  be  sure  of  this,  Erastus — if  I  could  be  sure  ;  but 


294  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVERIE. 

that  fearful  inclination  to  gamble  with  life  is  so  strong  with  you. 
How  do  I  know  at  what  moment  my  child's  life  might  be 
the  sacrifice  of  one  of  your  experiments  ?  Remember  poor 
Jasper." 

"  This  is  a  different  case,"  he  rejoined  sharply.  "  It  appertains 
to  my  own  blood.  This  is  my  daughter's  child,  her  representa- 
tive, more  sacred  to  me  than  my  own  life,  or  yours  even.  What 
was  Jasper  to  me  beyond  the  worm  that  crawls  ?  What  could 
he  ever  have  been  ?  What  blood  of  mine  flowed  through  his 
shallow  veins  ?" 

How  his  words  thrilled  me,  lying  there  bound,  as  with  invisible 
cords,  helpless,  yet  sensible  to  all  that  passed. 

"  It  will  not  do,  Camilla,"  he  continued,  "  even  under  circum- 
stances like  these,  to  refer  to  him.  This  child  is  mine.  She  has 
proved  her  courage  and  her  confidence  in  me,  as  no  other  being 
has  ever  done,  and  I  would  perish  a  thousand  times  before  I 
would  harm  one  hair  of  her  noble  and  devoted  head.  I  did  not 
dream  that  the  potion  she  swallowed  could  have  effects  like  these. 
It  acts  so  differently  on  my  system." 

"  Erastus,  it  is  destroying  you,  as  surely  as  alcohol  ever  killed 
the  habitual  dram-drinker,  or  opium  its  miserable  victim.  What 
properties  it  possesses  jn  common  with  these  I  know  not,  but  I 
feel  that  death  is  in  the  draught.  Think,  too,  of  its  wild  extrava- 
gance !  A  thousand  guineas  a  year  consumed  to  make  this  drug 
of  destruction  !  What  would  not  this  money  effect  ?  Laid 
aside,  it  would  afford  our  grand-daughter  a  marriage  portion,  or, 
put  into  active  use,  convert  these  worn  lands  into  fertile  grain- 
fields,  drain  yon  village,  so  often  decimated  by  epidemic,  and  give 
health  and  occupation  to  its  inhabitants.  Given  in  alms  even, 
what  might  it  not  effect  ?  Think  of  results  like  these  !  Erastus, 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          295 

I  must  speak  to  you,  painful  as  it  is  to  both,  and  silent  as  I  have 
been  too  long.  I  must  remind  you  of  your  accountability  to  God 
and  man,  and  your  fearful  profligacy  in  thus  destroying  your  sub- 
stance, and  that  of  your  family." 

"  You  depart,  madam,"  he  answered  coldly,  "  from  your  long 
established  generosity  of  conduct,  in  reproaching  thus  the  captive 
in  your  hands.  My  life  is  in  your  power.  I  have  placed  it  there. 
You  can,  any  day,  by  a  sign,  a  word,  get  rid  of  the  spendthrift, 
and  enjoy  his  fortune.  Nay,  without  this  painful  alternative,  for 
such  I  flatter  myself  it  would  be,  even  to  you,  it  can  be  com- 
manded to  flow  into  other  channels,  and  the  world  will  be  none 
the  wiser.  The  bequest  was  made  long  since  that  rendered  it 
legally  yours  ;  and  as  for  me,  is  not  my  name  written  on  a  tomb- 
stone?" 

He  spoke  with  an  earnest  pathos  now. 

"  She  moves,"  she  said,  "  she  revives  ;  she  will  overhear  you. 
One  word  more,  Erastus.  My,  our  child  must  not  be  tampered 
with  again.  She  comes  to  you  no  more,  save  with  the  protection 
of  my  presence." 

"  Madam,  forbear !"  he  murmured  between  his  set  teeth. 
"  Tampered  with — the  words  are  severe." 

"  They  are  the  words  for  the  occasion,"  she  retorted  sternly  ; 
"  and  my  decision  is  taken.  Move  it  who  may  !" 

"  Camilla,  for  God's  sake,  be  merciful !" 

He  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  imploringly.  She  shook  it  off,  as 
though  a  reptile  had  touched  her,  with  an  expression  of  ghastly 
loathing.  I  saw  all  this  as  I  lay,  helpless,  yet  perfectly  composed, 
on  a  sofa.  And  now,  meeting  my  eye,  she  came  to  me,  and  bend- 
ing over  me  tenderly,  kissed  my  cheek,  my  brow,  bathing  my  face 
literally  with  her  tears,  murmuring  low  words  of  caressing  affection 


296  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BCUVEKEB. 

Dr.  Quintil  returned  a  moment  later  with  remedies  he  had  been 
delayed  in  finding,  and  which  soon  enabled  me  to  rise  and  seek 
my  apartment,  with  the  aid  of  his  arm,  yielding,  as  they  did,  a 
temporary  relief. 

My  grandfather  had  thrown  himself  into  a  deep  chair,  and  sat 
with  his  face  averted.  I  was  too  weak  to  speak  to  him  ;  but  as 
Fabius  opened  the  door  for  us  to  pass  out  to  the  stairs,  I  whis- 
pered to  him,  "  Say  that  I  will  return  to-morrow." 

He  shook  his  head  significantly  at  these  words,  with  an  omi- 
nous gravity,  I  thought ;  but  this  made  little  impression  on  me  at 
the  tune. 

"  I  have  a  right  to  visit  my  grandfather,  when  and  where  I 
please,"  I  thought,  "  an  inalienable  right  which  my  grandmother 
will  be  the  first  to  recognize,  when  her  anger  is  over.  She  knows 
he  never  meant  to  harm  me,  and  it  was  my  own  fault  if  I  would 
encounter  a  new  sensation.  But  Jasper  !  What  meant  this  allu- 
sion to  Jasper  ?  Alas,  was  it  through  him  those  poor  lips  were 
sealed  in  muteness  ?  No,  no,  I  will  not  believe  this  thing.  What 
more  ?  No  child  of  his  ?  Of  whom,  then  ?  Hers,  surely  I 
Oh  1  terrible,  terrible  uncertainty  ;  down,  down,  suspicion  !" 

Lying  on  my  couch,  in  the  weakness  consequent  on  this  wild 
experiment,  I  tortured  myself  with  questionings  like  these.  Ex- 
cessive languor  and  debility  were  with  me  the  successors  of  my 
draught  of  life,  and  I  lay  extended,  almost  helplessly,  on  a  sofa  in 
my  grandmother's  chamber,  for  nearly  a  week  after  I  left  the 
sealed  apartments. 

While  still  unable  to  join  the  family  at  the  table,  Fabius 
brought  me  on  one  occasion,  owing  to  some  indisposition  on 
Bianca's  part,  the  strawberries,  which  were  the  only  food  I 
craved,  from  the  dessert,  and  took  the  opportunity  to  restore  me 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUTEBEE.  297 

the  duplicate  key  of  the  secret  door,  which  he  had  found,  he  said, 
on  the  floor  of  the  rotunda,  after  we  came  downstairs.  I  had 
not  missed  my  key  before,  and  somewhat  conscience-stricken  by 
my  own  carelessness,  received  it  silently.  The  old  man  lingered,  as 
if  expecting  some  remark. 

"  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  return  to  the  sealed  apartments.  I 
am  so  glad  to  have  this,"  I  said.  "  Tell  my  grandfather  I  am 
only  a  little  weak  ;  and  give  him  my  love,  Fabius." 

"  He  sends  you  his,  Miss  Lilian,  and  hopes  you  will  never  for- 
get him." 

"  Forget  him  I  Oh,  tell  him  not  to  dream  of  such  a  thing  ; 
but  never  mind.  I  will  tell  him  this  and  much  more  to-mor- 
row in  person,"  I  said,  rising  on  the  couch.  "  See,  I  am  almost 
restored.  Tell  him  this,  Fabius,  it  will  comfort  him.  Say  that 
you  saw  me  sitting  up." 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"  You  will  not  come  back  again,  Miss  Lilian  ;  they  will  not 
permit  you.  My  master  thinks  so  at  any  rate,  and  he  is  very  low 
indeed  about  it." 

"  But  I  will  return,  I  tell  you.  No  one  has  a  right  to  prevent 
me  this.  No  one  can." 

Again  he  shook  his  head,  and  laying  his  finger  on  his  lip,. 
looked  at  me  significantly,  lifted  his  eyes  mournfully  to  heaven, 
and  left  me — bearing  off  the  scarce  tasted  strawberries — hi  a  con- 
dition of  mingled  excitement  and  bewilderment.     I  cast  myself 
back  on  the  couch  quite  overcome. 

"  This  is  too  bad,"  I  thought.  "  I  will  speak  seriously  to  my 
grandmother  on  this  subject ;  but  no.  It  is  but  a  figment  of  the 
old  man's  scheming  brain.  What  a  conspirator  was  lost  in 
him  I" 

18* 


298  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUTEKIE. 

As  I  lay  listlessly  turning  the  key  in  my  fingers,  and  revolving 
the  words  of  Fabius  at  the  same  time,  I  perceived  between  me 
and  the  light,  that  the  wards  were  full  of  white  matter,  which  I 
found  on  examination  to  be  wax.  I  thought  little  of  this  at  the 
tune,  engaged  as  I  was  with  other  considerations  ;  but  this 
trifling  circumstance  furnished  later  a  clue  to  an  occurrence  which 
might  otherwise  have  seemed  mysterious  and  even  inexplicable. 

I  had  just  removed  the  encumbering  substance,  and  was  about 
to  place  the  key  in  my  pocket,  when  my  grandmother  entered. 
Her  quick  glance  rested  on  it  at  once,  and  she  extended  her  hand 
for  it. 

"It  is  just  what  I  want,  Lilian,  that  duplicate  key.  You 
have  no  further  use  for  it,  and  I  will  take  it  into  custody 
again." 

"  Grandmother,"  I  said,  as  I  gave  it  into  her  hands,  "  I  think 
you  might  have  left  this  matter  as  it  stood.  I  see  no  reason  why 
free  access  to  my  grandfather's  apartments  should  be  denied  me 
now  more  than  before.  It  was  my  own  will  to  drink  the  elixir. 
This  shall  not  be  repeated." 

"  He  has  abused  sacred  confidence  in  tampering  with  your 
safety  as  he  has  done.  This  cannot  be  reposed  in  him  again, 
without  throwing  a  weight  of  responsibility  on  me  that  I  am  un- 
willing to  incur.  Yet  I  by  no  means  object  to  your  visits  to  his 
chambers,  when  made  in  my  society  or  that  of  Dr.  Quintil." 

"  Grandmother,  I  would  so  much  rather  go  to  him  alone.  I 
have  heard  you  say  myself,  that  no  conversation  was  ever  spon- 
taneous between  more  than  two.  These  visits  are  so  delightful  to 
me,  to  him  ;  and  as  for  the  elixir,  I  promise  you  to  taste  nothing 
from  his  hands,  if  that  will  satisfy  you.  Restore  me  my  key,  and 
take  off  your  interdict !" 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.          299 

Her  brow  darkened. 

"  My  decision  is  taken,"  she  replied.  "  Lilian,  say  no  more. 
You  can  never  see  him  again  without  the  presence  of  wit- 
nesses." 

"  Fabius  is  always  there,"  I  persisted.  "I  have  never  been 
alone  with  him  more  than  a  few  minutes  at  a  time,  since  I  first 
went  to  him  ;  and  by  sign  and  gesture  the  old  man  tried  to  dis- 
suade me  from  tasting  the  medicine.  It  was  but  an  error  of 
judgment  on  my  grandfather's  part,  but  a  piece  of  defiance  on 
mine,  to  say  the  most  of  it.  Oh  !  grandmother,  revoke  your  de- 
cision. Have  pity  on  his  loneliness." 

"  Pity  I"  she  said,  while  a  stern,  sad  smile  passed  over  her 
noble  features,  leaving  them  again  cold  and  inflexible.  "  You 
have  spoken  well !  Pity  has  always  been  a  master  passion  with 
me,  a  master  weakness  even.  What  other  bond  do  you  suppose 
can  now  exist  between  me  and  the  man  you  plead  for  ?  You  are 
infatuated,  Lilian  !" 

"  I  had  given  you  credit  for  deeper  feelings,"  I  said,  coldly,  in 
my  turn.  "When  I  saw  you  ministering  to  his  pleasure  in  every  way, 
even  to  change  of  dress,  adorning  yourself  as  you  do  for  his  eye 
only,  1  supposed  there  might  still  be  some  holy  regard  lingering 
around  the  wreck  of  years.  But  I  see  it  now.  All  this  is  alms, 
grandmother  ;  and  this  is  why  my  presence  is  so  dear  to  him,  so 
invaluable — why  it  must  not  be  denied  to  him." 

"  Alms  1"  she  repeated.  "That  is  a  strange  conceit  of  yours  ; 
yet  perhaps  you  are  right.  Compassionate  attention  is  but  alms  after 
all.  This  feeling  leads  me  to  surround  his  limited  life  with  what 
enjoyment  I  can  afford  him.  It  is  a  whim  with  him  to  like  to  see 
me  wear  the  dresses  he  once  admired.  It  costs  me  little  pains  to 
put  them  on  to  please  him.  I  do  this  as  a  matter  of  principle. 


800  THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEKIE. 

The  changes  of  fashion  are  nothing  to  a  prisoner,  fastidious 
though  he  be,  therefore  they  need  no  renewing.  But  there  is 
one  dress  he  shall  never  see  me  wear,  dearer  than  all  beside,"  she 
murmured. 

"No  more  of  this,"  she  added  impatiently.  The  matter 
is  concluded.  Let  it  rest !  Dark  thoughts  come  in  troops 
to  me  to-day.  Would  that  I  could  drive  them  aside  thus,  at 
once  and  forever.  But  no,  this  cannot  be.  Father,  thy  will  be 
done  1" 

As  she  spoke  these  words,  murmuring  the  last,  she  threw  out 
her  arms  with  a  sudden  effort,  as  if  repelling  the  assaults  of  mate- 
rial rather  than  mental  foes  ;  then  clasping  her  hands,  she  raised 
them  first  to  heaven,  and  afterward  bowed  her  head  upon  them, 
so  clasped,  as  if  wrapped  in  internal  supplication,  remaining  mute 
some  moments  and  standing  perfectly  immovable. 

I  can  give  no  idea  by  a  mere  description,  of  the  grandeur  and 
significance  of  this  gesture,  nor  of  the  impression  it  made  on 
me  of  mingled  dignity  and  submission.  It  stirred  me  powerfully. 

"  Grandmother,"  I  said,  bursting  through  the  reserve  habitual 
to  our  intercourse,  in  the  strong  impulse  of  the  moment,  "  tell  me. 
I  conjure  you,  whence  come  these  dark  thoughts  that  you  drive 
aside  like  fiends,  yet  bow  before  like  gods  ?  What  is  this  sorrow 
that  devours  you,  and  corrodes  the  existence  of  all  who  surround 
you?  Tell  me — I  have  a  right  to  know.  I  am  young,  I  am 
strong,  I  am  of  your  blood.  Let  me  share  your  burden." 

"  Peace,  Lilian,  peace  1"  she  said,  laying  her  hands  tenderly  on 
my  head,  now  bowed  before  her.  "  Be  dutiful,  be  obedient,  be 
patient.  Rest  in  the  enjoyment  of  such  ignorance  as  remains  to 
you,  and  respect  the  sanctity  of  my  grief.  Were  I  to  lift  the 
curtain  that  hides  the  past,  you  would  wish  it  dropped  again." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  301 

"  It  may  be  ;  and  yet  I  am  of  a  nature  to  prefer  certainty  to 
doubt,  under  most  circumstances  ;  but  there  are  some  sick  mis- 
givings now  at  work  in  my  veins,"  I  said,  gloomily,  "  that  would 
make  any  explanation  merciful." 

"  Has  he  dared  to  malign  me  ?"  She  spoke  with  quivering  lip, 
and  flashing  eyes.  "  Speak  !  tell  me  the  truth  I" 

"  No,  no  1 — indeed  he  has  not,"  I  hastened  to  reply.  "  He  has 
never  spoken  one  word  to  injure  or  detract  from  you,  grandmother. 
In  his  very  schemes  of  fortune,  he  makes  you  his  first  object.  He 
idolizes  you — I  am  sure  of  that.  It  is  you  who  fatally  misunder- 
stand " 

"  Fatally  understand  him,  you  mean,"  she  interrupted,  with  an 
almost  mocking  calmness,  "Pass  over  that  assurance,  if  you 
please  ;  and,  as  to  his  schemes  of  fortune,  I  give  you  my  word, 
that  could  these  dreams  be  realized,  I  would  have  no  part  in 
them.  His  sorrow,  his  wretchedness,  his  degradation,  I  partake, 
partly  from  the  nature  of  circumstances,  partly  from  a  spirit  of 
self-sacrifice,  that  is  the  best  part  of  my  defective  character,  I  be- 
lieve— imbecility,  he  would  call  it,  probably  ;  but  his  prosperity, 
his  enjoyment,  I  reject  utterly.  I  have  eaten  with  him  the  bitter 
bread  of  life — its  cates  would  choke  me  !  But,  to  the  point. 
What  occasions  those  misgivings  to  which  you  refer,  and  which 
seem  of  recent  date  ?  Explain,  explain  1" 

She  spoke  with  an  impatient  bitterness  unusual  with  her.  I 
hesitated  a  moment ;  then,  nerving  myself,  answered  her  in  low, 
tremulous  tones,  at  first,  that  deepened  as  emotion  governed  me. 

"  Words,  grandmother,  that  were  dropped  when  you  thought 
me  unconscious  ;  words  from  the  lips  of  both  my  parents — if  such 
indeed  you  are — significant,  terrible  words  I" 

"  Child,  you  are  dreaming  I    What  doubts,  what  fancies,  po* 


802          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

sess  you  now  ?  I  can  recall  nothing  of  the  kind  ;  this  must  have 
been  a  delusion  created  by  the  drug." 

"No,  I  heard  them  distinctly.  Jasper  was  spoken  of — my 
Uncle  Jasper,  as  I  have  been  tanght  to  call  him  ;  and  his  father — 
or  he  I  had  thought  his  father — disclaimed  him  with  scorn.  '  Xo 
blood  of  mine  flows  in  his  shallow  veins  !'  were  the  very  words  he 
uttered,  and  you  did  not  repel  the  calumny,  grandmother,  if  such 
it  was.  What  does  this  mean  ?" 

"Jasper  is  not  your  grandfather's  son,  Lilian,"  she  said,  col- 
lecting herself  with  a  strong  effort,  for  she  was  evidently  much 
affected.  "His  father  was  perfection  ;  how  tliink  you  such  a  flower 
could  grow  from  the  upas-tree  that  shadows  us  ?" 

I  started,  and,  covering  my  face  with  my  hands,  burst  into  tears. 

"  Shame,  through  you,  grandmother !  I  had  not  looked  for 
this  1"  I  murmured. 

"Xor  is  he  mint!"  she  continued,  taking  down  my  hands,  and 
gazing  into  my  face  with  her  large  earnest  eyes.  "  It  is  time  that 
you  should  know  this,  now  that  it  can  no  longer  influence  you. 
Nor  is  he  mine,  Lilian,  save  by  adoption.  His  mother  was  an 
angel,  I  have  been  told.  He  sprang  from  perfect  natures  on  both 
sides,  very  different  from  those  you  came  from,  my  poor  Lilian  1 
It  is  easy  for  him  to  be  faultless,  but  you  " 

"Oh,  grandmother,"  I  interrupted,  "you  have  made  me  so 
happy !"  My  arms  were  around  her  neck,  my  face  covered  with 
confusion,  hidden  on  her  shoulder.  "  Forgive  me,"  I  faltered, 
"that  I  dared  to  doubt  you." 

She  was  silent  for  a  time,  and  I  felt  her  breast  heaving  against 
mine  with  a  storm  of  mute  emotion,  which  soon  subsided,  for  in  a 
few  moments  she  said  to  me,  in  her  usual  clear  and  cheerful 
voice: 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIB,          303 

"  Look  up,  my  love — look  up,  and  take  a  lesson  from  my  face, 
never  to  be  forgotten.  Learn  better  from  this  hour  to  read  that 
only  certain  index  to  the  human  heart,  the  human  countenance. 
Whenever  you  see  eyes  directed  toward  you,  clear,  steady,  proud, 
honest,  true,  as  all  that  run  may  read  mine  to  be,  believe  that  no 
guilt  harbors  within,  and  that  however  errors  of  judgment  or 
passion  may  have  disturbed  the  soul  that  looks  out  from  such 
windows,  those  of  craft,  perfidy,  or  shame  have  never  been  in- 
cluded. Believe  this,  Lilian,  whatever  others  may  tell  you  ;  and 
now  make  haste,  and  get  your  strength,  for  we  are  wanted 
upstairs,  and  we  must  go  together." 

Then  with  that  strange  versatility  of  manner  which  might  have 
been  derived  from  the  necessities  of  her  position,  or  was,  perhaps, 
a  natural  and  providential  gift  in  her  case,  she  turned  to  me  with 
a  smile,  and  the  careless  observation  : 

"  I  hope,  my  love,  you  enjoyed  your  strawberries.  They  were 
the  finest  I  have  seen  this  year." 


804  THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE. 


¥  CHAPTER  II. 

HAPPY  I  yes.  I  had  told  iny  grandmother  that  her  revelation 
had  made  me  happy,  and  at  first  I  believed  this  assertion  ;  but 
later  I  felt  that  this  new  and  perfect  recognition  of  Jasper's  atti- 
tude toward  me  was  cause  of  endless  sorrow.  The  feelings  so 
long  restrained  by  a  sense  of  propriety  and  right,  now  rushed 
back  to  their  old  place,  like  dammed  waters  freed  from  obstruc- 
tion, after  being  forced  into  a  false  channel ;  and,  day  by  day,  my 
heart  shrank  more  and  more  from  the  task  that  lay  before  it. 

My  grandmother  did  not  suspect  this.  An  engagement  so  posi- 
tive as  mine  was  now  known  to  be,  seemed  little  short  of  marriage 
itself  with  her.  She  was  one  of  those  favored  mortals  who  can 
govern  and  direct  their  feelings,  and  even  thoughts.  My  nature 
was  more  impulsive,  less  under  the  dominion  of  reason  and  of  duty 
than  her  own — infinitely  less  perfect.  Yet  the  whole  falseness  and 
pain  of  my  position  were  not  forced  upon  me  until  Jasper  returned. 

Owing  to  circumstances,  my  summer  plans,  made  so  confidently 
when  travelling  the  year  before  with  Everard  Howe,  had  been 
wholly  changed.  It  was  determined  that  I  should  remain  quietly 
at  home,  engaged,  during  the  months  I  had  set  apart  for  a  tour 
among  the  lakes,  hi  those  preparations  all  women  love  to  make 
when  about  to  confer  hand  and  heart  together — so  inexpressibly 
painful  to  me  1  In  September,  Jasper  was  to  return.  In  Octo- 
ber, I  was  to  be  married.  Such  were  our  present  plans. 

It  was  observed  by  the  whole  household  of  Boaverie,  that  I 
grew  pale  and  listless  as  spring  deepened  into  summer  ;  and,  with 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.          305 

the  determined  blindness  of  those  who  will  not  see,  they  attributed 
this  to  natural  anxiety  on  my  part  at  the  approach  of  so  import- 
ant an  event  in  my  life,  and  concern  at  the  inevitable  separation 
that  lay  before  me  from  all  I  had  loved  so  long. 

My  grandmother  busied  herself,  with  Bianca's  assistance,  in 
making  up  rolls  of  fine  linen  and  muslin  for  my  benefit.  Piles  of 
beautiful  old  laces  and  embroidery  were  brought  from  their  hiding- 
places  of  years,  to  embellish  these  ;  patterns  from  distant  cities, 
purchased  or  solicited  through  the  proper  mediums  ;  and  an 
arrangement  made,  conditionally,  with  a  distant  milliner  of  un- 
doubted taste,  to  supply  the  whole  bridal  trousseau  in  autumn,  at 
Dr.  QuintiPs  expense. 

People  that  have  few  wants  can  afford  to  be  so  generous.  The 
man  that  smoked  a  pipe  for  economy,  did  not  hesitate  to  send 
carte  blanche  to  this  accomplished  modiste,  when  my  pleasure  and 
his  pride  were  concerned.  "We  cannot  aim  at  jewels,"  he  said  ; 
"  you  will  find  enough  of  those  in  England,  I  suppose,  among 
family  trophies  ;  but,  if  a  year's  income  will  give  you  a  suitable 
outfit,  you  shall  have  it,  Lilian,  and  a  thousand  dollars  beside,  that 
I  have  put  aside  in  gold  from  time  to  time — a  sort  of  caprice  of 
mine,  that  I  am  glad  of  now,  since  it  will  fill  your  purse  for  pin- 
money  to  begin  with." 

How  could  I  bear  to  damp  their  evident  pleasure  by  any  show 
of  discontent  ?  I  tried  to  subdue  all  symptoms  of  this  kind.  I 
forced  myself  to  manifest  interest,  when  my  heart  lay  like  a  stone 
in  my  bosom.  I  was  like  a  poor  actress  I  once  saw  smiling  on 
the  stage,  when  her  baby  lay  dying  at  home.  We  were  stopping 
at  the  same  hotel  in  adjoining  rooms,  and  came  back  almost  at 
the  same  moment  to  our  chambers.  1  remember  the  peculiar 
elation  of  spirits  her  acting  caused.  She  was  a  comedian. 


306  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE. 

Oh,  the  sobbing  anguish  of  that  night  to  her  !  Oh,  the  wild 
shriek  at  daylight  that  told  me  all  was  over  1 

It  was  a  merciful  relief  to  me  to  be  alone,  and  so  I  missed  free 
access  to  my  grandfather's  society  less  than  I  would  have  done  a 
few  months  before.  My  fate  was  narrowing  around  me.  There 
was  no  outlet  for  escape  it  seemed  to  me,  no  comfort  in  complaint, 
no  recourse  from  the  inevitable.  I  postponed  the  communication 
that  my  grandmother  left  it  for  me  to  make  to  our  beloved 
prisoner,  and  which  I  had  been  desirous  of  doing  long  ago,  it  may 
be  remembered,  on  many  pretences. 

It  would  do  as  well  to  broach  the  subject  in  August,  I  averred, 
as  we  had  put  it  off  so  long  ;  he  was  not  strong;  the  heat  began 
to  oppress  his  delicate  frame  with  unwonted  languor,  or  some 
other  cause  less  manifest,  was  doing  its  work  with  him.  In  truth, 
although  he  never  once  alluded  to  the  ban  which  had  been  placed 
on  our  intercourse,  nor  relaxed  in  the  cordial  courtesy  of  his  man- 
ner to  those  who  had  established  this  interdict,  I  thought  I  could 
see  a  slow,  physical  change  passing  across  him,  as  over  a  plant  that 
droops  for  the  want  of  some  proper  element  of  soil  to  which  it 
has  been  accustomed. 

"  It  is  providential  perhaps,"  I  thought,  "that  he  is  prepared 
in  this  way  for  our  final  separation.  It  will  fall  less  crushingly 
upon  him,  after  passing  the  ordeal  of  gradual  estrangement.  I  will 
postpone  the  final  pain,  however,  as  long  as  possible."  Nor  could 
my  grandmother  shake  my  resolution  on  this  point. 

I  never  heard  the  fires  roaring  above  my  head  during  that  sum- 
mer, and  ascertained  that  his  few  experiments,  all  tending  to  one 
great  purpose,  were  chiefly  performed  now  in  that  chemical 
range  I  had  noticed  on  the  night  of  my  first  visit  to  his  apart- 
ments, lately  rendered  more  complete  by  additions. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          307 

To  these  occupations  he  never  alluded  now. 

Literature  was  oftenest  his  theme,  and  his  eloquent  voice  waa 
lifted  in  praise  of  his  favorite  authors,  or  in  scathing  criticism 
levelled  against  those  he  scorned  or  disliked,  and  these  were 
legion  !  He  had  the  art  of  detecting  and  hitting  all  vulnerable 
points.  His  Paris  arrow  was  always  on  the  string,  and  he  would 
strip  away  the  lion's  skin  or  the  peacock's  plumes  from  the  dis- 
guised ass  or  jackdaw,  with  ferocious  delight  that  withered  what 
it  revealed. 

It  pained  me  sometimes  to  have  fond  delusions  of  mine  dis- 
pelled in  this  sudden  way  ;  but  wherever  my  taste  or  inclination 
were  deeply  rooted,  he  tried,  in  vain,  to  remove  them- — and  thus 
I  learned  to  separate  the  real  from  the  false  in  my  own  intel- 
lect. 

His  prejudice  against  American  literature  was  intense,  oftenest 
unjust,  for  many  of  our  great  writers  were  in  thwr  zenith  then, 
and  it  did  me  good  occasionally  to  break  a  lance  for  them.  My 
grandmother  seemed  much  amused  at  these  rencontres.  It  was 
only  during  these  playful  skirmishes  that  she  relaxed  in  the 
severity  and  gravity  of  her  manner  toward  him,  and  seemed  to 
forget  the  past.  And  he  basked  in  her  transient  obliviousness  of 
sorrow,  as  our  poor  Merodach  had  done  in  the  sunshine  of  the 
skylight. 

His  summer  sitting-room  was  the  pleasant  circular  hall,  of 
which  I  have  so  often  spoken,  every  avenue  of  approach  to  which 
was  so  strictly  guarded  from  below,  as  to  give  him  that  sense  of 
security  necessary  to  all  enjoyment.  It  was  here  that  we  usually 
found  him  sitting  immediately  below  the  skylight,  left  open  for 
the  admission  of  light  and  air,  and  glaring  down  upon  him  like  a 
great,  ever  watchful  eye. 


808  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

It  was  here  that  he  read,  ate,  talked,  walked,  lived  almost  •, 
drinking  in  the  hottest  rays  of  sunshine,  or  revelling  in  the  milder 
light  of  moon  and  stars  with  equal  pleasure.  I  recollect  his 
almost  childish  delight  one  night  when  "  Orion  "  and  "  Aldebaran" 
appeared  immediately  above  his  limited  circle  of  observation. 
His  frame  trembled  with  its  intense  excitement. 

" No  wonder  the  Chaldeans  worshipped  them,"  he  said  ;  "they 
are  divine  ;"  then  breaking  into  involuntary  prayer,  he  cried,  "  If 
ever  I  live  again,  0  God,  let  it  be  in  one  of  these  1" 

The  veriest  hind  could  go  forth  each  night  and  gaze  on  hea- 
ven's magnificence  unrestrained  ;  he  with  his  kingly  intellect 
rejoiced  in  glimpses  of  that  glorious  firmament  alone,  whose 
expanse  was  shut  away  from  him  forever.  The  meanest  slave 
could  rove  through  wood  and  field  when  his  task  was  done  ;  he 
who  had  commanded  men  so  long  must  hide  from  them  now  in 
this  narrow  sphere  of  stagnant  routine  ;  his  "  great,  round  world," 
as  he  called  it,  in  that  strange  spirit  of  mocking  gaiety  that 
affected  me  more  than  any  mood  of  complaint  or  repining  on  his 
part  could  have  done. 

Whatever  the  errors  may  have  been  that  consigned  him  to  its 
limits,  he  bore  with  unfaltering  courage  and  cheerfulness  then: 
penalty.  Complaint  was  a  stranger  to  his  lips,  and  he  made  the 
best  of  his  position,  rendered  infinitely  more  pathetic  in  my  eyes 
by  such  determined  patience.  The  greater  part  of  his  life  was 
spent  hi  solitude,  necessarily  ;  and  there  must  have  been  times,  I 
think,  of  fierce  and  almost  overwhelming  agony  to  a  nature  proud 
and  implacable  as  his  own,  when  he  reviewed  the  past,  the  van- 
ished "  might  have  been,"  and  then  surveyed  the  present.  Putting 
aside  remorse,  of  which  some  persons  believed  him  incapable,  the 
sacrifice  of  worldly  prospects,  of  freedom,  social  intercourse,  and 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUTEKIE.  309 

family  affection,  and  the  dark  heritage  of  shame  and  Borrow  he 
must  leave  to  his  posterity,  were  enough  to  crush,  to  almost 
madden  him.  Even  had  these  been  supportable,  the  stagnation, 
the  wearing  monotony  of  his  existence,  to  which  his  burning  imagi- 
nation only  added  self-torment,  must  have  been  infinitely  depress- 
big  and  crushing,  physically  as  well  as  mentally.  The  very 
luxury  of  his  life  was  only  calculated  to  enervate  and  destroy 
him  ;  and  his  hopelessness  of  any  change  for  the  better,  was  per- 
haps the  worst  feature  of  all.  For  temporally  or  eternally  the 
nature  of  his  suffering  seemed  fixed  and  unchangeable.  These 
considerations  added  strength  and  tenderness  to  my  affection,  my 
idolatry  almost  for  him  ;  and  had  he  stood  forth  hi  the  world, 
the  centre  of  society,  the  most  admired  of  men,  I  never  could 
have  reverenced  or  loved  him  so  profoundly,  as  from  the  deep, 
yearning  pity  that  filled  my  bosom. 

In  feelings  like  these  I  often  lost  sight  for  a  season  of  my  own 
position,  and  the  poignancy  of  my  peculiar  sensations  would  grow 
dull  and  vague,  as  the  bitter  sting  of  his  condition  glanced  to  my 
heart.  "  Must  this  always  continue  ?"  I  thought ;  "  is  there  no 
leniency  in  law,  no  end  to  punishment.  There  are  terms  even  in 
penitentiaries,  which,  once  served  out,  entitle  the  prisoner  to  free- 
dom. Was  our  prisoner  in  for  life  ?  Alas  1  alas !" 

With  the  end  of  June  came  Jasper  1  He  stood  before  me  sud- 
deoly,  unexpectedly,  one  evening,  as  we  sat  together  on  the  lawn, 
before  my  grandmother's  great  bow-window.  He  had  dismissed 
the  conveyance  that  brought  him  from  Crofton  at  the  stone  gate, 
and  walked  quietly  up  to  the  mansion  unobserved. 

I  pass  over  the  rapture  of  that  meeting.  Almost  all  persons 
have  known,  once  at  least  in  life,  such  sensations  as  moved  va 
then ;  and  to  those  who  have  never  experienced  such,  no  words  of 


310  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEEIE. 

mine  could  convey  them.  For  these  unfortunates,  let  us  persuade 
oui'selves,  heaven  preserves  some  such  joyful  recognition  of  kindred 
spirits,  as  a  compensation  for  a  life  of  vacancy  and  monotony 
here  below. 

Little  was  said  at  first.  Tears,  smiles,  embraces,  spoke  the 
fittest  language  for  the  occasion,  but  we  surveyed  him  from  head 
to  foot,  again  and  again,  as  he  stood  before  us,  strengthened,  im- 
proved ;  walking  now  without  the  aid  of  cane  or  crutch,  and,  as 
ever,  nobly  beautiful. 

Dr.  Quintil's  first  remark  was  characteristic  of  the  philosophy 
of  his  life.  He  had  been,  I  think,  more  affected  by  Jasper's  sud- 
den appearance  than  any  of  us.  He  was  so  silent,  so  agitated,  for 
a  tune,  that  it  distressed  me  to  look  at  him  ;  at  last,  struggle  as 
he  would,  tears  came  to  his  relief,  and  flowed  freely  down  his  face. 

Wiping  these  away  suddenly,  and  even  impatiently,  with  his 
banner-like  handkerchief — did  you  ever  observe,  dear  reader,  that 
almost  all  great-hearted  men  carry  these  flags  in  their  pockets, 
whether  of  silk  or  linen,  ready  to  be  unfurled  on  all  occasions  ? — 
he  inquired,  in  a  lachrymose  and  broken  voice  : 

"  Where  is  your  baggage,  Jasper  ?" 

I  could  but  smile,  and  I  saw  the  suppressed  amusement  in 
Jasper's  eye,  at  the  practical  inquiry  made  in  such  mournful  tones. 
My  grandmother  laughed  out  her  merry,  cordial  laugh,  so  seldom 
heard,  but  always  so  contagious. 

"At  Crofton,  uncle  ;  I  brought  nothing  with  me  but  a  hand- 
bag," signified  Jasper. 

Dr.  Quintil  was  either  unobservant  of,  or  totally  indifferent  to, 
our  merriment  at  his  expense. 

"  I  will  go  at  once,"  he  added,  in  his  weeping  voice,  so  signally 
at  variance  with  the  subject,  "and  send  Smith  with  the  cart  to 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIK.  311 

fetch  it.  My  dear  boy,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you — so  grown,  too, 
so  improved  ;  straight  as  an  arrow,  now;  only  one  thing  wanting— 
well,  well,  it  can't  be  helped." 

He  had  thrown  his  arm  over  Jasper's  shoulder,  as  he  spoke, 
and  I  saw  that  the  difference  that  had  once  existed  in  their  height 
was  greatly  diminished. 

Straining  him  again  to  his  breast — a  thing  he  had  done  half  a 
dozen  times  before— he  broke  away  at  last,  and  went  rapidly  forth 
on  his  errand  ;  and  a  few  moments  later  my  grandmother  passed 
into  the  house  to  hasten  supper — always  a  late  meal  with  us — for 
the  benefit  of  her  restored  wanderer. 

It  is  a  common  superstition  of  hospitable  people  that  all  who 
arrive  from  a  distance  are  in  a  starving  condition,  and  must  perish 
if  not  immediately  sustained  by  food.  Jasper  had  come  from 
Italy,  therefore  was  hungry — the  inference  being  that  he  had  eaten 
nothing  on  the  way.  Strange  logic,  in  these  days  of  hotel  and 
steamboat  abundance,  and  roadside  feasting,  and  ocean  palaces. 

For  the  interval  of  half  an  hour,  we  were  alone.    During  this 

« 
time  I  was  conscious  of  talking  on  in  a  rapid,  excited  way;  asking 

questions — never  answered,  of  course,  since  it  was  too  dark  for 
tablets — and  feeling,  rather  than  seeing,  Jasper's  grave,  reproach- 
ful eyes,  as  I  knew  they  were  fixed  upon  me,  in  the  dim  summer 
twilight.  It  was  a  relief  to  both,  I  believe — I  know  it  was  to  me 
— when  supper  was  announced,  and  we  went  in  to  the  cheerftil, 
well-arranged  table  where  frugality  was  made  to  resemble  luxury, 
by  the  aid  of  taste  and  care. 

To  the  simple  grace  he  always  said  at  meals,  Dr.  Quintil  added 
to-night  a  devout  thanksgiving  for  the  safe  return  of  one  dear, 
long-absent  member  of  the  household  of  Bouverie,  to  which  all 
hearts,  if  not  all  lips,  responded  a  deep  Amen  ! 


313  TEE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE. 


CHAPTER  III. 

Two  weeks  from  the  day  of  Jasper's  arrival,  I  glided  into  my 
grandmother's  room,  and  laid  an  unsealed  letter  before  her. 

"  You  will  oblige  me  by  reading  this,  dear  grandmother,  at 
your  leisure,"  I  said,  "  and  judging  of  its  propriety." 

"It  is  to  Everard  Howe,"  she  observed,  returning  it  to  me  ; 
"  this  form  is  no  longer  necessary,  my  love.  I  have  every  confi- 
dence in  your  discretion,  and  the  relations  between  you  are  so 
decided  now,  that  in  future  I  decline  this  office,  which  " 

"Grandmother,  you  must  read  this  letter,"  I  interrupted,  a 
little  sternly,  perhaps.  "  It  contains  an  important  decision." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  she  asked,  rising  from  her  seat,  as  she 
spoke,  and  laying  her  hand  firmly  on  my  arm,  while  she  peered 
into  my  face.  I  trembled  in  her  grasp,  and  felt  my  resolution 
forsaking  me.  I  was  conscious  of  turning  very  pale. 

"A  glass  of  water,  if  you  please,  for  Miss  de  Courcy,"  she  said, 
loftily,  to  Bianca,  who  crossed  the  floor  at  that  moment.  "  Sit 
down  ;  be  composed,  I  pray  you.  This  decision  ! — explain  it  to 
me  yourself.  I — I  cannot  read  that  letter  now." 

She  was  pale  and  agitated  ;  her  grasp  relaxed,  she  turner1,  away 
from  me,  and  mutely  wrung  her  hands.  This  action,  which  she 
strove  to  conceal,  affected  me  deeply.  I  saw  her  whole  heart  was 
set  upon  this  union,  so  important,  as  she  considered  it,  for  my  wel- 
fare. I  saw  what  agony  her  apprehensions  occasioned  her — I 
dreaded  the  effect  of  their  confirmation. 

I  drank  the  water  Bianca  brought  to  me  in  silence,  waited  untO 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTTVEBIE.  313 

she  retired,  then  spoke  with  sudden  determination,  and  with  ex- 
ceeding pain. 

"  Grandmother,  you  understand  me,  I  think.  I  am  about  to 
break  my  engagement  with  Sir  Everard  Howe." 

She  did  not  reply,  but  her  large  dilating  eye  measured  me  from 
head  to  foot,  and  her  nostrils  quivered  with  scorn.  Presently  the 
proud  lip,  so  sternly  compressed  until  now,  rose  in  a  wreathing 
smile  of  bitter  disdain. 

"Truly,"  she  said,  in  freezing  accents,  "the  Greek  proverb 
spoke  well,  when  it  said,  '  Those  whom  the  gods  seek  to  destroy, 
they  first  make  mad  !'  Girl,  you  are  insane  !  You  are  rushing 
on  destruction." 

She  hesitated,  surveying  me  sternly,  perhaps  waiting  for  a  reply, 
or  reading  me  like  an  open  book,  as  I  sat  panting  before  her — 
partly  frightened,  partly  indignant,  as  I  was. 

"  I  suppose  Jasper  is  at  the  bottom  of  this  change,"  she  added, 
bitterly.  ''  Poor  foolish  children,  I  pity  you  1" 

"Jasper  has  influenced  me  in  no  way  to  make  me  change  my 
decision,"  I  replied,  in  low  accents,  speaking  like  one  in  a  dream, 
almost ;  "  I  am  acting  from  my  own  judgment  alone,  for  our  mu- 
tual happiness." 

"  Why  was  not  this  thought  of  before  he  returned,  if  this  be 
true  ?  Why  does  his  presence  here  occasion  this  sudden,  this  un- 
expected change  ?" 

"  Because  I  see  how  unhappy  he  is,  and  I  know  I  have  made 
him  so." 

"And  is  this  all?" 

"All  !  grandmother?  A  great  deal,  I  think.  Happiness  is  a 
very  sacred  thing." 

"And  si)  are  obligations,  Lilian  !  Have  you  never  thought  of 

14 


314  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUTEKIE. 

this  ?    Sir  Everard  Howe  holds  your  solemn  promise — your  troth, 
His  happiness,  too,  is  at  stake." 

"  I  know — I  know!"  I  said  passionately,  covering  my  face  with 
my  hands,  and  sobbing  aloud.  "  I  have  done  very  wrong.  I  am 
wretched,  penitent,  humiliated,  to  death.  I  would  strew  ashes  on 
my  head,  creep  on  my  knees  before  him,  do  anything  in  my  power 
to  atone  for  the  wrong  I  have  done  him  ;  but,  I  cannot  add  to  it. 
grandmother,  by  marrying  him,  with  a  heart  wholly  given  to 
another." 

"  This  is  the  first  tune  I  have  ever  heard  such  a  confession  from 
a  woman's  lips,  who  was  not  either  married,  or  engaged  to,  its 
object,"  she  said,  turning  coldly  away.  "  It  shocks  me  ;  it  is  un 
maidenly — immodest,  even." 

I  crimsoned  to  the  temples. 

"  Grandmother,"  I  made  answer,  "  I  can  bear  your  scorn,  your 
reproaches,  but  not  insult,  injustice,  like  this — I  do  not  deserve  it," 
and  I  felt  that  my  eyes  flashed  fire.  "Never  have  I  been  un- 
maideuly  in  thought  or  deed  ;  but  oh,  it  seems  to  me,  that  no  act 
could  be  half  so  unseemly,  so  unwomanly,  as  to — yes,  grandmother, 
I  must  speak  out,  whatever  you  may  think  about  decorum — as  to 
lie  in  the  bosom  of  a  man  who  is  not  beloved.  I  am  not  the 
shameless  hypocrite  to  do  this  thing." 

"  You  have  been  long  in  arriving  at  this  conclusion,"  she  re- 
marked, with  biting  scorn. 

"  It  has  been,  indeed,  a  long  time  since  the  struggle  began  ;  but 
it  is  over  now,"  I  said.  "  Almost  from  the  moment  of  making 
that  engagement,  I  felt  the  pressure  of  the  chain  that  bound  me 
too  galling,  too  unendurable,  to  be  borne.  Of  late,  it  seems  to 
nave  eaten  into  my  very  flesh — it  cankers  there.  I  must  throw  it 
off,  or  perish — I  must,  indeed,  grandmother  !  And  Jasper  1 — it 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  315 

has  only  been  lately,  you  know,  that  the  truth  with  regard  to  our 
Telationship  has  been  fully  revealed  to  me.  Before  that,  it  seemed 
sinful  to  love  him,  even  in  uncertainty,  for  some  words  of  his  had 
long  awakened  a  dim  suspicion,  a  dim  hope,  even  in  my  mind,  that 
no  blood  flowed  between  us." 

She  caught  at  the  hasty  expression,  which  so  imperfectly  ex- 
pressed what  I  meant  to  say. 

" Blood  1"  she  reiterated,  "yes,  rivers  of  blood — such  blood! 
Oh,  God  !"  and  she  leaned  her  pallid  brow,  now  covered  with  cold 
dew,  forward  on  her  quivering  hands,  supporting  these  in  turn  on 
the  low  table  before  her,  so  that  her  face  was  invisible  to  me. 
"  How  can  I  tell  you  what  blood,  Lilian  ?"  There  was  a  long, 
oppressive  silence. 

At  last  she  looked  up,  grave,  stern,  composed  ;  pale  as  marble, 
save  where  two  crimson  spots  flickered  on  her  cheeks,  like  candles 
on  some  cold,  grey  altar-stone,  and  speaking  in  accents  of  deepest 
agony,  in  a  few  low,  sorrowful  words,  she  made  her  revelation. 

Then  first  I  knew  what  "  ban  of  blood,"  as  Bishop  Clare  had 
called  it,  rose  between  us.  Then  first  I  heard  the  true  name  of 
him  I  loved,  and  the  circumstances  that  had  thrown  his  life  into 
the  precincts  of  Bouverie.  Then  first  was  revealed  to  me  why  my 
grandfather  was  an  eternal  prisoner  in  those  sealed  apartments  ; 
and  why  barriers  of  ice  shut  him  away  forever  from  the  affections 
of  his  wife,  and  him  she  called  her  son. 

Oh  !  woeful  revelation — half-suspected  before — how  crushing 
was  your  confirmation  of  all  I  dreaded,  yet  long  refused  to  believe ! 

For  a  tune,  I  staggered  blindly  beneath  the  burden  I  had  as- 
sumed ;  for  a  tune,  I  tacitly  acquiesced  in  the  justice  of  my  grand- 
mother's parting  words  to  me,  on  the  occasion  of  that  bitter  inter 
view: 


816  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

"  Lilian,  you  see  clearly  now  why  it  is  that  you  can  never  marry 
Jasper,  or  be  more  to  him  than  you  are." 

But  never,  for  one  moment,  did  I  lose  sight  of  the  determina- 
tion which  a  clear  insight  into  my  own  feelings  had  given  rise  to  ; 
and,  without  a  hope  for  the  future,  I  threw  off  the  brilliant  pros- 
pect of  honor  and  distinction  my  proposed  union  brought  with  it. 
I  sealed  and  directed  my  letter  to  Sir  Everard  Howe  that  day. 
It  would  meet  him  in  August,  at  Taunton  Tower,  I  knew;  and  it 
was  inclosed  to  the  care  of  Colonel  Reginald  de  Courcy. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  317 


CHAPTER  IV. 

As  winter  comes  to  the  earth  binding  and  controlling  ith  softef 
influences  in  chains  of  ice,  so  there  comes  at  times  to  the  human 
heart  a  cold  and  chilling  season — a  suspension,  rather  than  a 
\eath,  of  impulse,  more  strengthening  than  depressing  in  the  end ; 
yet  full  of  pain  and  sorrowful  endurance  while  it  prevails.  Such 
was  the  mood  that  possessed  my  being,  for  a  time,  after  the  sever- 
ing of  the  tie  that  had  bound  me. 

Yet,  on  the  whole,  I  was  content  with  what  I  had  done — con- 
tent, despite  my  grandmother's  cold  and  altered  brow  and  manner, 
and  the  knowledge  that  I  could  never  be,  with  her  consent  or  ap- 
probation, the  wife  of  Jasper — content,  in  the  consciousness  of  my 
own  redeemed  integrity 

To  dwell  alone,  even  though  enshrined  in  that  strangely  stricken 
household,  still  in  one  sense  alone  ;  or,  at  best,  to  float  on  the  out- 
skirts of  life,  like  a  dim  cloud  on  the  horizon's  verge,  which 
shadows  the  plain  below,  yet  has  no  part  in  it ;  such  seemed  my 
doom  !  Yet  better  this,  than  a  life  of  hypocrisy  and  regret — per- 
haps remorse  ;  better  this,  than  deceit,  defiance,  or  despair,  each 
growing  out  of  the  other  by  irresistible  consequences  ! 

In  the  crushing  and  chilling  of  my  affections,  I  avoided  every 
one — Jasper,  most  of  all.  He  knew  nothing  of  what  had  passed. 
I  saw,  by  his  glance,  that  he  missed  the  spaikling  ring  from  my 
finger,  worn  frequently  in  his  presence  when  he  first  returned — 
laid  aside  now  forever — with  the  miniature  encircled  by  brilliants, 
with  the  Indian  shells  and  shawls,  the  unstrung  pearls,  and  the 


318  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

exquisite  fans  of  carved  ivory  and  nacrework,  that  from  time  to 
time  Everard  Howe  had  sent  to  me  from  abroad. 

The  case  of  sandal-wood  that  contained  these  articles  was  kept 
in  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  return  them  to  his  hand.  I 
would  keep  nothing  to  remind  me  of  my  fault — nothing,  not  even 
his  letters,  pleasant  as  these  were  to  read,  and  free  from  that 
love-sick  vein  which  to  me  would  have  made  them  intolerable.  I 
knew  that  Jasper  suffered,  and  that  he  misconceived  the  cause 
of  my  coolness — my  reticence  toward  him.  His  speaking  eyes 
were  turned  on  me  sometimes  in  mute  and  surprised  questioning, 
then  dropped  again,  as  in  despair  of  fathoming  the  truth  beneath 
their  long,  dark  lashes. 

At  last  he  went  away.  His  pictures  had  arrived  in  New 
STork,  and  he  would  go  there,  he  said,  to  finish,  to  retouch  them, 
to  hang  them  in  some  gallery  where  they  might  be  seen  and 
known,  and  perhaps  find  purchasers.  Whatever  occurred,  he 
would  bring  them  to  Bouverie  finally,  that  those  he  loved  best 
might  see  them  before  he  parted  with  them  forever  ;  and  certainly 
he  wo  aid  return  in  October  at  furthest. 

I  understood  the  allusion  as  it  flashed  from  his  fingers,  and 
smiled  bitterly.  Yet  I  made  him  no  explanation  of  my  changed 
views.  I  told  no  one  what  I  had  done.  My  grandmother  and 
Dr.  Quintil  might  think  what  they  would  ;  until  interrogated  by 
them,  I  would  give  them  no  satisfaction. 

Some  days  passed  before  Dr.  Quintil  made  any  allusion  to  the 
past,  and  then  it  was  to  hold  up  a  letter  before  me,  directed,  like 
ray  own,  to  "  Everard  Howe." 

"  Do  you  object  to  this  ?"  he  said. 

"  What  have  I  to  do  with  your  correspondence  ?"  I  answered, 
almost  bitterly. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTTVEBIE.  319 

"  Then,  Lilian,  I  am  to  understand  that  all  is  really  over  ?" 

I  thought  the  expression  of  his  face  did  not  indicate  displea- 
rare. 

"  I  am  going  to  write  to  Madame  La  Trobe  to-day,  to  send  me 
none  of  the  articles  you  ordered  so  generously.  I  shall  never 
want  them  now,"  I  answered  evasively. 

"  Do  as  you  please,  you  are  the  best  judge,"  he  said.  "  It  is 
true  those  who  dwell  in  convents  have  little  cause  for  fashion. 
Serge  and  lawn  are  all  you  require  in  penitential  houses." 

And  so  I  wrote — so  closely  does  the  commonplace  tread  on  the 
heels  of  sentiment  in  this  prosaic  .  orld  of  ours — to  a  milliner,  as 
my  only  confidant  in  this  my  change  of  arrangements,  for  of 
course  she  comprehended  this  immediately,  and  I  received  before 
long  her  remonstrative  reply.  Some  of  the  articles,  she  said, 
most  costly  and  recherche",  were  on  their  way  from  Europe,  among 
others  a  superb  dress  of  white  Brussels  lace.  What  should  be 
done  under  these  circumstances  ? 

I  answered,  "  Let  them  be  sold  if  possible  ;  if  not,  they  will 
be  paid  for.  There  will  be  a  settlement  of  some  kind  on  the  first 
of  October.  Wait  till  then.  If  the  worst  comes,"  I  thought, 
"  I  will  sell  the  jewel  my  grandfather  made  from  my  poor, 
crushed  cross,  and  so  wipe  out  the  debt." 

Fortunately  for  my  quiet,  as  far  as  my  grandmother  was  con- 
cerned, Fabius  handed  me  the  post-bag  to  open  on  the  day  that 
Madame  La  Trobe's  letter  arrived.  I  was  alone  in  the  dining- 
room  at  the  time,  and,  having  quietly  read  it,  committed  it  to  the 
fire,  merely  to  avoid  discussion.  There  was  certainly  no  other 
cause  for  concealment  in  such  a  correspondence.  And  having 
answered  it,  the  matter  ended  for  the  time. 

Two  months  rolled  slowly  away.     A  great  restraint  rested  over 


820  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

us  all.  I  felt  its  presence  in  my  intercourse  with  every  member 
of  the  household  of  Bouverie,  with  my  grandmother,  with  Dr. 
Quintil,  with  my  grandfather  even  ;  for,  as  I  said  before,  whiter 
was  in  my  heart,  and  pervaded  all  things. 

In  August,  Bishop  Clare  came,  like  a  thaw  in  January,  break- 
ing up  the  icy  bondage  in  one  genial,  rushing  flood,  and  blending 
our  frozen  natures  into  one  stream  again.  This  was  effected  by 
no  design  of  his,  for  he  knew  nothing  of  this  new  condition  of 
things  ;  the  impulse  that  brought  us  all  together  was  of  course 
nothing  more  than  our  affection  for  him. 

Like  one  waking  from  a  long,  dull  dream,  from  which  it  was 
joy  to  be  released,  I  threw  myself  into  his  arms  and  wept,  the 
first  tears  of  months.  My  grandmother,  too,  gave  way  to  feeling 
such  as  she  had  not  exhibited  for  a  long  time,  and  Dr.  Quiutil's 
greeting  was  more  earnest  and  fervent  than  usual. 

The  good  father  had  cause  to  esteem  his  welcome  more  than 
usually  cordial,  if  somewhat  sad.  Later  he  saw  deeper  into  its 
source.  He  was  a  relief  to  our  overcharged  hearts,  a  safety-valve 
for  feeling,  a  centre  for  reunion. 

One  day  Bianca  brought  to  my  room  a  letter  bearing  a  foreign 
postmark,  that  made  my  heart  beat  high.  The  writing,  I 
thought  at  first,  was  that  of  Edith  Howe  ;  but  I  felt  that  I  must 
have  been  mistaken,  since  the  caligraphy  of  brother  and  sister 
greatly  resembled  each  other,  when  I  tore  open  the  envelope,  and 
discovered  my  own  letter  within,  on  the  back  of  which  was  writ- 
ten, carelessly,  in  pencil,  in  the  same  hand- writing,  "  Returned — 
unopened." 

I  sat  for  a  few  moments,  holding  it  silently  in  my  hands,  at 
first  lost  in  conjecture,  at  last  crimson  with  indignation  ;  then 
opening  it,  I  read  it  carefully,  from  beginning  to  end,  twice  ever, 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  321 

scanning  as  narr|wly  as  I  could,  every  expression,  every  assertion, 
and  recalling  with  burning  scorn,  the  feeling  of  deep  humiliation 
under  which  it  was  written. 

All  this  was  over  now.     We  stood  on  equal  ground  again. 

"  Everard  Howe,  you  have  relieved  me  by  this  insult  from  every 
feeling  of  regret  or  pain  that  might  otherwise  have  haunted  me  * 
through  life."  I  murmured  ;  "  the  mask  has  dropped  away,  I  see    " 
you  as  you  are  1" 

Reader,  had  I  loved  him,  the  feeling  that  inspired  me  might 
have  been  different.  I  might  for  a  moment  have  reeled  under  the 
bitter  blow,  and  felt  the  iron  enter  my  soul.  But  in  any  case,  to 
a  nature  like  mine,  the  result  must  have  been  the  same.  Reac- 
tion must  have  brought  disdain,  indifference,  contempt  even. 
When  a  proud  woman's  self-respect  is  assailed,  affection  dies  for 
him  that  deals  the  blow,  whether  he  be  friend  or  lover. 

I  rose,  I  paced  the  room.  Indignant  as  I  was,  a  burden  still 
seemed  lifted  from  my  life.  How  I  had  suffered  for  that  man, 
doomed  by  my  own  act  to  suffering  1  That  cold,  relentless  an- 
guish that  for  weeks,  nay  months,  had  clasped  me  in  its  bands  of 
ice,  was  all  for  him  !  All  this  was  at  an  end. 

I  smiled  in  the  fullness  of  my  contempt.  I  understood  it  all,  it 
seemed  to  me.  Good  Dr.  Quintil  had  gathered  my  intention,  had 
written  of  it  perhaps  to  Colonel  de  Courcy  in  a  deprecating  man- 
ner,  or  my  grandmother  even  might  have  condescended  to  have 
done  this  in  her  earnest  wish  for  what  she  deemed  my  welfare 
The  insinuation,  or  whatever  it  was,  of  such  an  inclination  on  my 
part,  communicated  to  him  by  his  relative,  had  fired  the  blood  of 
Everard  Howe.  He  had  determined  to  strike  the  first  blow,  to 
throw  me  off  rudely  and  forever.  He  had  done  this  because,  des. 
pite  appearances  and  preconceived  opinions,  he  was  no  gentlemaJ 

14* 


322  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

I  had  arrived  at  this  conclusion,  when  Bianca  fappeared  at  the 
door. 

"  Miss  Lilian,"  she  said,  "  dinner  is  waiting  ;  and  here  is  a 

letter  I  dropped  as  I  came  across  the  hall  awhile  ago.     Take  it, 

but  don't  stay  to  read  it  now.     Bishop  Clare  is  so  hungry,  and 

A  your  grandmother  is  strangely  out  of  sorts  to-day.     You  had 

better  make  haste,  I  think. 

A  glance  at  the  letter  revealed  the  large,  clear  characters,  and 
foreign  postmark,  of  Colonel  de  Courcy.  Thrusting  it  in  my 
pocket,  with  a  sick  loathing  I  could  not  repress,  I  followed  her 
to  the  dining-room.  There  matters  wore  a  gloomy  aspect  enough. 
Dr.  Quintil  was  walking  the  room,  as  I  entered,  with  unwonted 
agitation.  My  grandmother  occupied  her  accustomed  seat  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  with  traces  of  recent  tears  on  her  face. 
Bishop  Clare  looked  far  more  concerned  than  hungry,  I  thought. 
I,  only,  preserved  an  indifferent,  almost  a  defiant  air,  and  took  my 
seat  in  quietness. 

The  meal  passed  in  absolute  silence,  except  when  orders  were 
given,  or  dishes  offered.  Kever  was  anything  so  oppressive  as 
this  stillness.  Like  the  thick  darkness  of  Egypt,  it  seemed  to 
me,  it  could  almost  be  felt  and  grappled  with. 

The  most  empty  and  garrulous  talker  would  have  been  a  relief 
to  me  at  that  quiet  table,  where  all  eyes  were  fixed  on  me  with 
an  unmistakable  expression  of  surprise  and  suspense. 

"  They  think  I  have  been  justly  served,  I  do  not  doubt,"  I 
thought  as  I  met  Dr.  Quintil's  deprecating  glance  ;  "  they  are 
waiting  for  me  to  speak,  evidently,  but  that  I  will  never  do,  until 
they  broach  the  subject.  I  will  eat  if  it  chokes  me,  if  only  to 
show  them  that  I  do  not  care  for  his  insult,  or  their  unmerited 
condemnation." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  323 

And  so  I  compelled  myself  to  swallow  food,  as  a  child  takes 
medicine,  gulpingly  :  for  nnder  all  strong  mental  excitement  the 
power  of  deglutition  becomes  difficult  with  some  persons. 

The  weary  meal  was  over  at  last.  I  thought  Dr.  Quintil  would 
never  tire  peeling  peaches  for  Bishop  Clare,  in  whom  an  excessive 
repugnance  existed  against  touching  the  furred  skin  of  this  fruit. 
I  thought  Bishop  Clare  would  never  cease  to  accept  and  eat 
them,  although  I  could  see  that  he  did  this  mechanically,  as  one 
absorbed  in  thought. 

At  last  we  rose.  The  gentlemen  went  out  to  smoke  or  stroll ; 
Fabius  busied  himself  with  his  cloth  and  glasses.  My  grand- 
mother gravely  requested  me  to  follow  her  to  her  chamber.  We 
were  alone. 

"  Lilian  !"  she  said,  when  she  had  seated  herself  in  a  great 
chair  by  the  window,  and  pointed  out  to  me  the  opposite  seat,  in 
a  manner  all  her  own,  partly  urbane,  partly  commanding,  "  Lilian, 
I  scarcely  recognize  you  in  the  peculiarity,  the  hardness  of  your 
late  proceedings.  I  should  think  your  own  impulsive  and  ill- 
advised  rupture  of  your  engagement  would,  if  nothing  else 
affected  you,  make  you  feel  this  late  occurrence.  Instead  of 
being  softened  by  it,  you  seem  utterly  hard  and  defiant.  Strange, 
strange  girl,  shall  I  ever  understand  you  !" 

"  It  is  the  first  time,  grandmother,  that  I  ever  heard  it  sug- 
gested that  one  might  be  softened  by  insult.  Crushed,  humiliated, 
yes  !  To  some  natures  this  is  possible  ;  but  softened,  never  ! 
And  as  for  me,  nothing  has  so  relieved  me,  so  assuaged  regret,  as 
the  conduct  you  advert  to." 

"What  conduct,  Lilian?  What  do  you  mean?  Have 
you  read  Colonel  de  Courcy's  letter  ?  Could  anything  be  moro 
kind,  more  considerate,  more  delicate  even  ?" 


324  THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

1 1  have  not  read  his  letter,  scarcely  glanced  at  it,"  I  inten 
rupted.  "  I  have  it  here,"  and  I  drew  it  from  my  pocket,  and 
laid  it  on  her  knee.  "  Nor  do  I  wish  to  read  it.  Take  it  back, 
I  want  no  explanations,  no  glozing  over,  of  an  insult  too  gross, 
too  palpable  to  be  palliated.  He  had  no  right  to  reject  my  letter 
until  he  knew  its  contents.  The  past  alone  should  have  preserved 
me  from  harshness,  from  ungentlemanly  scorn  like  this.  I  have 
done  nothing  to  deserve  it." 

"  He  ?  To  whom  do  you  refer,  Lilian  ?  Colonel  de  Courcy 
ought  not  to  have  read  your  letter  certainly,  nor  should  Edith 
Howe.  Such  a  proceeding  on  the  part  of  either  would  have 
been  a  breach  of  confidence,  indelicate  even  under  the  circum- 
stances, and  you  know  " 

I  interrupted  her  passionately,  scarcely  heeding  her  last  words. 

"  To  Everard  Howe,  grandmother.  I  refer  to  him.  His 
hand  has  dealt  this  blow,  though  whence  his  warning  came  I  shall 
never  know,  probably.  Some  change  of  mood,  perhaps  some 
insight  into  the  real  state  of  affairs  in  the  upper  floor  of  Bouverie, 
given  maybe  by  the  treacherous  Smiths  themselves — who  knows  ? 
and  after  all,  who  cares,  grandmother  ?" 

"  My  child,  my  poor  child  !  Can  it  be  possible  that  you  are 
in  ignorance  of  the  sad  event  ?  I  thought  you  would  understand 
at  once,  even  without  having  read  Colonel  de  Courcy's  letter, 
what  had  occurred.  Lilian,  do  you  not  know  that  Everard  Howe 
is  dead  ?" 

The  word  fell  on  me  like  a  slow,  deep  tocsin  from  a  tolling 
bell.  I  rose  to  my  feet,  gazed  earnestly  into  her  face,  turned, 
stretched  my  arms  wildly  to  one  who  leaned  in  the  open  doorway 
with  his  sad  eyes  fixed  on  me,  and  falling  on  his  breast  as  he 
advanced  to  meet  me,  fainted,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          325 

To  swoon  in  the  full  strength  of  youth  and  health,  is  not  the 
trifle  that  it  seems  to  the  old  and  delicate.  With  such  as  these, 
the  temporary  suspension  of  life  makes  little  difference  in  its  dull 
and  stagnant  stream.  Admirable  system  of  compensation  that 
equalizes  suffering  as  no  other  adjustment  could  have  done  ! 

I  struggled  back  to  life,  as  a  strong  swimmer  gams  the  shore 
from  deep  water.  Long  before  I  gave  evidence  of  returning 
consciousness,  I  felt  the  fierce  endeavor  of  the  surging  blood  and 
reeling  brain  within  ;  the  hand  of  Nature  slowly  winding  up  the 
wheels  of  her  powerful  machine  again. 

I  knew  that  they  were  all  around  me,  all  save  one  of  that  de- 
voted household  of  Bouverie,  and  I  felt  that  if  that  were  indeed 
death,  so  strangely  benumbing,  and  yet  wrenching  me  with  its 
dull,  heavy  throes,  that  its  bitterness  was  wanting  among  such 
ministers.  I  knew  that  my  grandmother  bathed  my  brow,  that 
Jasper  chafed  my  hands,  that  Bianca  knelt  at  my  feet,  that 
Bishop  Clare  and  Dr.  Quintil  were  bending  above  me.  He  only 
was  wanting  who  would  have  felt  my  loss  more  than  any  of  these 
in  his  desolate  solitude. 

I  did  not  think  at  the  moment  of  Everard  Howe,  or  his  mourn- 
ful yet  unexplained  fate  ;  but  as  strength  returned  to  me,  this 
thought  took  entire  possession  of  me,  and  all  my  injustice,  scorn, 
and  crushing  coldness  came  surging  back  in  waves  of  sorrow  and 
remorse.  Tears  slid  from  my  half-closed  eyes,  and  my  bosom 
heaved  with  sobs. 

"  She  weeps,"  said  Bishop  Clare,  "  she  is  relieved.  Be  com- 
forted,  dearest  Lilian.  No  human  power  can  contend  with 
fate." 

"  And  his,"  murmured  Dr.  Quintil,  "was  fixed  from  the  begin- 
ning of  time" 


326  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEKIE. 

"  You,  too,  Camilla,"  said  Bishop  Clare,  speaking  in  low,  clear 
accents,  "must  yield  your  prejudice,  your  superstition  to  the  de- 
crees of  Heaven.  The  hand  of  God  is  in  this  blow.  Be  recon- 
ciled to  what  remains." 

She  did  not  speak,  but  stooping  softly  down,  she  kissed  my 
cheek,  my  brow  ;  then  laid  my  passive  hand  in  that  of  Jasper. 
His  lips  were  pressed  to  its  surface,  his  hot  tears  bathed  my  fin- 
gers, closed  tightly  on  his  own.  I  did  not  speak  nor  move,  but 
shutting  my  eyes  again,  gave  up  my  soul  to  the  fullness  of  its 
Borrowful  yet  ineffable  joy. 

In  that  moment  of  unspeakable  happiness,  a  deep,  prophetic 
vision  seemed  for  a  moment  to  shadow  me  as  with  visible  wings. 
For  one  brief  moment  the  unproved  future  stretched  before  my 
mental  gaze,  as  in  the  mirage  of  the  clairvoyant.  I  saw  what 
Byron  called  a  "  mass  of  many  images,"  confused  at  the  time, 
but  separated  later,  as  each  in  turn  met  its  fulfillment  into  clear 
and  startling  life  scenes  ;  and  at  the  last  I  saw  a  pale  woman,  in 
widow's  weeds,  standing  alone  on  the  terrace  of  Bouverie,  and  I 
recognized  in  her  face  and  form,  a  dim  prophetic  likeness  to  the 
girl  called  Lilian  de  Courcy,  as  she  might  appear  when  changed 
by  time  and  sorrow.  Ten  years  later  how  was  the  vision 
verified  ? 

So,  after  all,  this  betrothal  of  Bouverie  was  a  sad  affair, 
worthy  of  its  surroundings ;  having  its  origin  in  death,  and  bas- 
ing its  hopes  on  the  power  of  love  to  conquer  sin  and  shame. 
Blood  must  be  washed  away  by  faith  and  affection  ;  and  the 
grand  word  "  atonement"  carried  out  in  its  fullness  by  two  frail 
mortal  creatures,  strong  only  in  their  trust  and  love  for  each 
other. 

Yet  it  was  without  a  single  misgiving  that  I  undertook  my 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUYEKIE.  327 

portion  of  this  task.  That  any  curse  could  rest  on  our  innocent 
affection  from  the  guilty  past,  I  did  not  believe  or  for  a  moment 
realize  ;  and  yet,  that  there  was  a  shadow  to  be  removed  from 
it,  I  saw  with  loving  and  hopeful  eyes. 

The  Greeks  poured  libations  to  the  unappeased  manes  of  those 
who  died  by  violence,  and  so  quieted  those  restless  ghosts. 
Might  not  we,  by  lives  of  piety  and  devotion,  expiate  the  crime 
of  one  and  the  suffering  of  another,  and  make  feeble  amends  for 
that  noble  and  sacrificed  life  whose  tide  still  swelled  the  veins  of 
Jasper?  Might  not  we,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  pour  such 
libations  and  aspire  to  do  this  thing  ? 


32b  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEREE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

COLONEL  DE  Conner's  letter  to  me  was  a  model  of  dignified 
propriety  and  consideration.  I  did  him  justice  at  last.  My  letter 
had  reached  Taunton  Tower  just  before  the  sad  news  of  Sir 
Everard  Howe's  sudden  death  arrived  there  ;  sudden  and  violent, 
for  he  had  been  crushed  by  a  fragment  from  an  impending  cliff 
(that  had  hung  there  since  the  creation,  waiting,  perhaps — who 
knows  otherwise  ? — for  him  to  pass  beneath  it  before  it  fell),  while 
taking  a  quiet  evening  stroll  on  the  island  of  St.  Helena. 

His  lifeless  body,  crushed  to  shapelessness,  was  removed  with 
difficulty  from  beneath  the  mass  that  had  so  long  overhung  the 
quiet  pathway  he  was  tracing,  when  the  sudden  call  for  his  soul 
was  made,  through  its  unexpected  fall.  Others  that  walked  there 
in  company  with  him  were  spared.  One  had  lingered  behind  to 
pluck  a  flower — one  straggled  on  before  without  a  motive — so 
work  the  inscrutable  decrees  of  fate  ! 

Reader,  believe  me,  when  I  tell  you  that  I  deplored  the  death 
of  the  man  who  had  so  generously  offered  to  share  his  love,  his 
prosperity  with  me,  with  tears  as  sincere  and  manifold  as  though 
he  had  been  my  brother.  How  cheerfully  I  would  have  welcomed 
the  mortification  of  the  returned  letter,  to  know  that  he  lived 
again  !  How  insignificant  seemed  this  incident  now,  in  view  of 
the  awful,  changeless  truth  !  From  whatever  effect  that  letter  of 
mine  might  have  exerted  over  his  feelings,  he  was  spared  at  least 
by  this  untimely  death.  He  died,  believing,  trusting  in  my  affec- 
tion ;  and  those  that  loved  and  honored  him,  still  trusted  in  it,  and 
in  me.  My  heart  was  wrung  by  the  letter  of  Edith  Howe,  in 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  329 

which  she  poured  forth  on  me,  as  from  the  floodgates  of  her  sor- 
row, all  her  reliance,  her  confiding  sympathy.  My  determination 
was  taken  then,  painful  as  was  the  task,  to  undeceive  those  rela- 
tives who  claimed  me  still  as  a  sacred  portion  of  their  dead. 

Colonel  de  Courcy's  generous  offer  to  settle  a  provision  on  me 
as  the  widow  of  his  ward,  had  been  declined,  of  course,  as  was 
simply  right  and  natural,  with  gratitude  not  unmixed  with  pride. 
But  this  greater  obligation  of  sisterly  tenderness,  could  not  be  so 
treated.  I  had  no  right  to  receive  it  on  such  grounds  ;  and  so, 
sending  back  the  box  of  sandal-wood  to  Edith  Howe,  with  all  its 
precious  contents,  I  wrote  the  accompanying  letter  : 

"  BELOVED  EDITH — 

"  For  such  you  must  always  be  to  me,  not  only  for  the 
sake  of  the  friend  who  is  gone,  but  from  the  confidence,  the  frank- 
ness, the  affection,  with  which  you  have  treated  me  from  first  to 
last — I  send  you  back  this  box,  because  my  conscience  tells  me  it 
justly  belongs  to  you.  You  will  be  surprised  when  you  examine 
its  contents,  and  find  among  them  the  ring  of  troth,  the  miniature 
your  brother  gave  me,  with  many  of  his  valued  and  interesting 
letters.  You  will  say, '  Surely  these  are  justly  the  property  of  her 
who  was  plighted  to  him  as  his  betrothed  wife.  What  whim  is 
this  that  possesses  her?'  Bear  with  me,  dear  Edith,  and  you 
Khali  know  that  I  am  impelled  by  no  caprice  to  return  these  things, 
but  from  a  deeper  movement  of  my  soul,  that  urges  truth  and 
honor  as  primal  duties.  Before  I  heard  of  your  brother's  death — 
months  before — I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  surrender  all  claims 
on  his  affections  ;  and  the  letter  you  returned  to  me  conveyed  to 
him  my  regretful  determination. 

"  Its  causes  I  cannot  tell  you  now,  but  certainly  they  had  no 


330  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

root  in  any  fault  of  his.  Time  may,  or  may  not,  manifest  to  you 
some  of  these.  All  are  in  God's  keeping  !  But  this  much  under- 
stand. I  find  myself  so  bound  up  hi  this  mournful  household  of 
Bouverie,  that  I  cannot  any  more  break  through  the  bands  that 
bind  me  in  its  midst,  than  can  a  prisoner  through  his  fetters. 

"  Yet  the  chains  that  hold  me  here  are  light  and  loving,  flexible 
as  strong  ;  made  up  of  affection,  of  respect,  of  sympathy,  of  deep- 
est pity,  even — of  all  that  restrains  and  binds  the  human  heart 
most  closely,  and  makes  it  more  than  death  to  sever  them.  We 
lead  a  solitary  life.  It  would  be  as  ungenerous  for  me  to  separate 
my  fate  from  theirs  I  dwell  among,  as  for  a  member  of  a  ship's 
company,  lying  becalmed  in  some  desolate  sea,  to  take  the  life-boat, 
and  flee  away  in  search  of  shore  and  cheerful  companionship.  If 
I  ever  entertained  it,  I  have  abandoned  all  such  idea  now.  My 
fate  compels  me  here,  and  I  abide  its  issue. 

"  Yet,  if  you  feel,  sweet  Edith,  that  I  have  not  forfeited  all 
claims  on  your  friendship  by  this  confession,  continue  to  write  to 
me.  Your  letters  will  be  a  solace  to  my  loneliness,  and  in  inform- 
ing me  of  your  happiness  increase  my  own. 

"  For  crushing  as  is  your  sorrow  now,  you  will  still  be  happy. 
Life  lies  before  you,  fair  and  beautiful,  as  a  great  plain,  above  the 
horizon  of  which  the  sun  has  just  risen.  A  cloud  is  passing  now 
across  its  disc  ;  but  this  will  fleet  away,  and  the  golden  glory  of 
your  morning  time  again  illumine  every  object. 

"  Think  not  I  am  insensible  to  your  brother's  death,  because  I 
have  not  dwelt  on  its  melancholy  details  more,  or  offered  you  the 
usual  tribute  of  consolation.  Few  events  could  afflict  me  more  ; 
but  I  do  not  know  whether,  under  the  circumstances,  you  would 
find  this  acceptable  from  me,  or  believe  in  the  sincerity  of  my 
grief  or  sympathy.  I  cannot  lay  myself  open  to  doubts  of  this 


THE   HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  331 

kind  from  any  one  I  call  '  beloved,'  and  from  whom  I  demand 
esteem  as  my  right,  even  if  denied  affection.  Your  treatment  of 
this  letter,  dear  Edith,  will  decide  my  future  expressions. 

"  I  am  devotedly  yours, 

"LILIAN  HE  COUBCT." 

Tune  passed,  and  no  answer  came  to  this  letter.  It  seems 
that  it  was  a  great  shock  to  Edith  Howe,  and  that  she  resented  it 
bitterly  But  later,  when  the  edge  wore  off  her  feelings,  she  saw 
the  truth  and  justice  of  my  proceeding,  and  manifested  this 
change  in  a  manner  which  I  should  anticipate  events  by  recording 
here. 

In  accordance  with  some  feeling  of  which  I  could  not  divest 
myself,  I  refused  to  marry  Jasper  under  one  year  from  the  tune 
of  hearing  of  Everard  Howe's  death.  Indeed,  to  me  it  was  suf- 
ficient joy  to  see  him,  to  be  near  him,  to  be  sure  of  his  affection. 
The  love  I  bore  him  was  rooted  in  my  very  being,  and  sufficed,  as 
it  existed,  for  my  happiness.  I  should  have  been  content  to  live 
beside  him  forever  in  the  same  relations  that  we  then  bore  to  each 
other  ;  but  the  thought  of  change,  of  separation,  of  divided  feel- 
ing, must  have  killed  me.  With  him  it  was  something  different. 
He  grew  restless  under  this  probation,  and  sought  a  vent  to  his 
impatient  spirit  by  frequent  visits  to  the  studios  of  the  cities,  and 
by  renewed  efforts  in  his  own  sphere  of  art. 

Early  in  the  month  of  September  of  that  year,  I  accompanied 
Doctor  Quintilian  and  Jasper  to  the  city  in  which  the  pictures  to 
which  I  have  alluded  were  to  be  exhibited.  My  ambition  for 
him  was  fully  gratified  by  the  eulogiums  I  heard  lavished  upon 
them,  standing  as  I  did  in  the  crowd,  an  eager  but  unobserved 
listener  and  spectator.  Alas  !  those  pictures  shared  the  fate  of 


332  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKIE. 

the  classic  halls  they  helped  to  ornament,  and  live  now  only  in 
memory,  their  material    part  having  been  recently  reduced  to 


Indulge  me,  reader,  in  the  ineffectual  effort  I  am  about  to 
make  to  bring'them  before  you  by  description.  They  were  sug- 
gestive pictures,  and  as  such,  difficult  to  convey  to  the  imagina- 
tion by  words  alone,  for  a  suggestive  picture  is,  after  all,  a  mere 
pedestal  for  fancy  to  rest  on,  while  she  plumes  her  wings  for  flight. 
He  called  them  "  Regret,"  and  "  Endurance."  The  first  con- 
sisted of  a  single  figure,  that  of  a  woman,  young,  worn,  yet 
beautiful,  bending  above  a  letter.  He  represented  her  standing 
by  a  window  reading  it,  dreaming  over  it  rather,  in  the  dying 
light  of  day,  evidenced  as  this  was  by  the  lengthened  shadows 
and  moted  sunbeams  that  flecked  the  floor. 

It  is  evidently  an' old  letter  (I  use  the  present,  for  the  picture 
still  lives  before  me),  taken  from  a  package  of  such  on  a  table  near, 
and  that  it  has  touched  some  mighty  chord  of  feeling  is  evinced 
in  every  lineament  of  the  sad,  I  had  almost  said  quivering  coun- 
tenance. The  parted  and  depressed  lips  seem  just  to  have  uttered 
a  name,  or  an  exclamation  ;  the  emotion  of  the  word  yet  lingers 
about  them  with  a  sort  of  tender  anguish  that  cannot  be  described 
nor  yet  mistaken  for  any  other  phase  of  feeling. 

One  hand  is  clenched  upon  the  sill  as  if  to  poise  the  otherwise 
faint  and  yielding  form  ;  the  other  grasps  the  letter  with  a  half- 
trembling  eagerness,  strangely   enough  conveyed,   by  that  im- 
movable attitude,  to  the  eye  and  mind  of  the  spectator. 
Out  of  the  past  "  Regret "  has  arisen  ! 

Jasper  had  chosen  the  figure  of  a  man  to  express  "  Endurance," 
a  word  that  to  his  mind  seemed  to  carry  the  union  of  Fortitude 
and  Forbearance. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKIE.  333 

The  face,  a  very  grand  one,  looks  out  upon  the  gazer,  I  see  it 
still  in  my  mind's  eye,  dear  reader,  though  fire-consumed  in  sub- 
Btance,  so  again  I  use  the  present  tense  for  that  which  is 
materially  a  part  of  the  past  alone — full,  calm,  and  glorious,  with 
its  expression  of  lofty  resignation.  The  physical  perfection  of  the 
figure  commanded  unusual  admiration  :  but  to  me  this  was  sub- 
ordinate to  the  sentiment  it  so  successfully  conveyed. 

The  scene  lies  in  a  prison  by  the  barred  window  of  which  the 
man  is  sitting,  resting  one  arm  on  a  table  on  which  are  placed  a 
Bible,  a  loaf,  and  pitcher.  The  other  hand  seems  to  waive  aside 
the  key  which  female  fingers  are  extending  to  him  through  the 
bars.  This  slender  hand,  exquisite  hi  beauty  and  expression, 
belongs  to  the  muffled  form  of  the  woman  without  the  grating, 
and  alone  indicates  her  station.  On  the  floor  of  the  dungeon  lies 
an  unsheathed  sword,  on  which  the  foot  of  the  prisoner  is  care- 
lessly placed.  A  ray  of  light  from  the  window  streams  first  on 
the  head  of  the  martyr,  then  slanting  off,  gilds  the  open  page  of 
the  book  of  life,  suggesting  his  determination.  He  will  endure. 

Of  the  draping,  coloring,  arrangement  of  lights  and  shadows  of; 
this  picture,  I  am  not  artist  enough  to  speak  knowingly,  possess- 
ing as  I  do  only  the  inner,  not  the  outward  artistic  eye.  But 
the  approbation  of  connoisseurs  was  too  favorable  not  to  arouse 
the  enmity  of  artists  as  a  class,  though  there  were  individual  ex- 
ceptions among  those  who  had  achieved  fame,  and  who  no  longer 
shuddered  before  the  very  shadow  of  a  rival 


334  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ONE  evening,  on  returning  to  our  hotel,  I  found  my  bed  and 
table  encumbered  with  packages  that  had  been  sent  in  by  Madame 
La  Trobe.  It  was  too  vexatious. 

"  She  might  have  waited  at  least  for  the  first  of  October  to 
have  arrived,  before  forcing  these  articles  upon  me,"  I  thought, 
with  tears  in  my  eyes.  "  What  shall  be  done  ?  How  shall  I 
arrange  this  matter,  without  applying  to  Doctor  Quintil  or  Jasper, 
to  meet  the  bills  for  a  trousseau  ordered  for  such  an  occasion  ?  I 
wish  I  had  asked  for  my  diamond  before  I  left  home.  I  might 
have  sold  it  for  this  purpose  ;  but,  as  it  is  1" 

I  sat  down,  quite  oppressed  by  the  extent  of  my  pecuniary  in- 
volvements, quite  uncertain  what  to  do.  I  would  not,  for  the 
world,  have  opened  one  of  those  tabooed  packages.  At  length 
lights  were  brought,  and  the  sound  of  the  gong  startled  me  from 
my  reverie. 

On  going  to  the  toilet-table  to  smooth  my  dress  and  hair,  I  saw 
a  long  envelope  lying  upon  it,  addressed  to  me.  I  opened  it,  and 
found  Madame  La  Trobe's  bill  receipted  by  Doctor  Quintil  1  In 
the  next  moment  I  went,  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  to  answer  his 
friendly,  peculiar  knock,  gentle,  oft-repeated,  at  the  door. 

"  Not  ready  for  supper  yet,  Lilian  !  Why,  how  is  this  ?  Cry- 
ing, too,  I  protest.  Silly  child,  you  are  homesick." 

"  Not  at  all ;  only  vexed  that  all  these  things  should  have  been 
forced  on  you,"  and  I  pointed  to  the  package.  "I  wrote  to 
Madame  La  Trobe  hoping  to  prevent  this." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  05  BOUVEEIE.          335 

"I  know  all  about  that,"  he  said,  placidly  ;  "she  showed  me 
the  letter  yesterday,  when  I  called  to  try  and  hurry  her  a  little, 
thinking  you  might  need  some  of  the  matters  on  hand  at  once,  and 
there  is  no  use  now,  you  know,  waiting  for  the  first  of  October. 
Many  were  unfin  shed  ;  but  I  decided  to  take  them  home  with  us, 
in  consideration  of  some  change  of  fashion  that  might  occur  before 
next  year.  But  such  as  you  need  now,  I  commanded  to  be  made 
up  at  once — your  lace  dress,  for  instance." 

I  clung  to  his  arm,  half  laughing,  half  crying.  "  What  a  man 
you  are,  to  be  sure,"  I  said,  kissing  his  large  brown  hand — he 
never  wore  gloves,  only  carried  them,  and  his  skin  tanned  readily. 
"  How  generous  you  are — how  mysterious,  too.  But  what  in  the 
world  made  you  suppose  I  wanted  my  lace  dress  now,  if  ever  t 
Don't  you  know,  dear  Dr.  Quintil,  I  would  not  wear  that  dress 
to  be  married  in,  now,  for  the  world  ;  it  would  be  ominous,  and 
how  will  it  ever  be  useful  to  me  for  any  other  purpose  1" 

"  I  will  tell  you  after  supper.  But  make  haste  now,  and  com- 
plete your  toilet — a  pretty  one  let  it  be  ;  the  ladies  in  the  parlor 
are  elegantly  dressed,  I  can  assure  you,  yet  I  did  not  see  one  half 
as  good-looking  as  you  are.  See,  I  have  brought  you  a  comb,  set 
with  turquoise,  to  suit  your  eyes,  Lily;  and  this  little  black  lace 
scarf" — drawing  the  articles,  as  he  spoke,  from  his  capacious 
pockets,  and  unwrapping  them — "  they  say  it  is  the  fashion  ; 
'  Guipure  point,'  they  called  it,  I  believe,  at  that  store  with  a 
Jewish  name,  I  forget  what,  now — Judah  or  Levy,  or  some  such 
Hebrew  cognomen.  Jasper  says  these  will  go  well  with  your  blue 
organdi — he  wrote  the  name,  so  I  remember  that ;  so  hurry,  love. 
I  shall  be  back  hi  twenty  minutes,  and  I  am  famishing  for  a  cup 
of  good  black  tea." 

I  was  ready  when  he  returned,  and  we  descended  to  the  suppur- 


336  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

room,  where  Jasper  joined  us  ;  and  where,  weary  with  a  day  of 
city  strolling,  we  all  did  ample  justice  to  the  somewhat  slender 
fare. 

•  "  No  biscuit !"  reiterated  Dr.  Quintil,  as  the  waiter  made  the 
communication  that  the  establishment  was  minus  the  desired  arti- 
cle ;  "I  really  thought  this  people  had  become  civilized  by  this 
time.  Why,  what  is  a  man  to  live  on  ?  Cold  bread,  and  no  bis- 
cuits ;  and  tea  made  with  lukewarm  hydrant-water.  Milk,  instead 
of  yellow  cream,  too,  Confucius  ! — what  a  supper  !" 

Yet  he  ate  heartily  of  what  was  set  before  him,  and  went  in 
good  spirits  to  the  drawing-room  with  me,  whence  Jasper  soon 
vanished  to  fulfill  an  engagement. 

"And  now,  I  will  tell  you,  Lily,  what  we  want  with  the  white 
lace  dress  immediately.  We  are  going  to  a  grand  ball,  to- 
morrow night,  given  by  the  queen  of  this  city.  You  did  not  know 
this  was  a  monarchy  before  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,"  I  said,  laughing  ;  "  but  your  queen  has  not  called 
upou  me,  and  I,  you  know,  am  a  sovereign  likewise,  and  must  wait 
for  this  ceremony." 

"Not  at  all.  This  queen  does  not  visit,  she  only  receives, 
which  is  a  great  deal  better.  Besides,  she  is  an  old  and  intimate 
friend  of  mine,  royal  as  she  is.  Before  she  ascended  the  throne,  I 
studied  medicine  with  her  husband  (just  think  of  a  doctor's  wife 
being  a  sovereign),  and  she  has  not  forgotten  our  former  affection. 
You  need  not  look  at  me  in  that  quizzical  way,  I  never  was  the 
least  bit  in  love  with  her,  I  assure  you." 

"  Dear  Dr.  Quintil,  I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing.  As  well 
suspect  the  Pope  himself  of  any  impropriety  of  this  sort.  But, 
tell  me,  how  came  she  to  be  queen  ?  Who  elected  her  ?" 

"  The  fact  is,  this  city  is  a  peculiar  one,  and  cannot  get  along 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          337 

without  a  ruler.  Other  cities  are  governed  by  an  oligarchy,  and 
matters  of  etiquette  are  put  to  the  vote.  Not  so  here.  This 
community  requires  absolute  despotism  to  move  it  from  its 
frigidity.  There  must  be  one  sovereign,  be  he  or  she  log  or 
stork — one,  and  one  only — the  appointed  of  fashion,  the  layer- 
down  of  law.  When  King  N B was  deposed — that 

man  of  rare  accomplishments  and  genius — '  alas !  we  shall  not  look 
upon  his  like  again  1' — there  was  an  interregnum,  during  which 
mediocrity  became  omnipotent ;  but,  after  an  interval — partly 
from  charity,  partly  from  ambition — this  large-hearted  and  ener- 
getic woman  took  in  her  own  hands  the  reins  of  government,  and 
has  shown  herself  a  second  Semiramis." 

"  What  a  singular  arrangement,"  I  said,  humoring  his  jocose 
mood  to  the  utmost.  "  But  this  lady,  has  she  still  a  husband, 
and  if  so,  why  is  he  not  king  as  well  ?" 

"  Why  is  not  Albert  king  of  England,  Lily  ?  Come,  do  not 
attempt  to  "  prove  me  with  hard  questions."  Enough  ;  she  reigns, 
and  you  are  bidden  to  her  court  to-morrow  night.  See  here,  I 
have  the  invitation  in  my  hat,"  and  he  drew  out  the  cards  for  the 
coming  ball  ;  "  but  better  than  these,  I  had  a  verbal  invitation 
first,  and  such  a  greeting  as  almost  overpowered  me.  By  the  by 
I  must  not  forget  to  get  pumps  and  white  gloves  to-morrow," 
looking  wistfully  at  his  hands.  "  Oh,  dear,  what  an  expense  to  be 
sure  !  Well,  well,  it  can't  be  helped,  a  great  bore  nevertheless." 

"  If  you  say  another  word  about  expense,  I  will  send  every- 
thing back  to  Madame  La  Trobe  in  a  magnificent  rage.  You  are 
nothing  but  a  mean  miser,  and  treat  yourself  worse  than  a  slave. 
I  will  not  stand  by  and  see  such  a  worthy  man  abused  and 
slighted  any  longer.  My  patience  is  exhausted,  so  go  to-morrow 
betimes,  and  array  yourself  in  a  full  suit  of  fine  black  broad- 

15 


888  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

cloth,  and  get  a  new  hat  instead  of  that  old  slouch,  which  looks 
ashamed  of  itself,  as  if  it  was  trying  to  slink  out  of  sight,  and  a 
fashionable  vest  and  neck-cloth,  and  a  dozen  medium-sized  pocket 
handkerchiefs,  without  borders,  and  patriotic  emblems,  hem- 
stitched, too,  so  as  never  to  be  again  mistaken  for  flags  of  truce 
or  Fourth  of  July  trophies  when  you  draw  them  out  of  your 
pocket,  and  wave  them  as  you  always  do.  Do  all  this,  or  I  go  not 
a  foot  to  the  ball,  and  you  and  your  queen  may  deplore  my  ab- 
sence together." 

He  laughed  at  my  assault,  and  would  promise  nothing,  but 
finally  complied  with  every  requisition,  and  like  all  clumsily  made 
men,  was  incredibly  improved  by  his  new,  well-fitting  garments 
and  careful  toilet.  He  was  really  handsome. 

I  was  ready  at  ten  o'clock,  when  Jasper  brought  my  camelias 
and  bouquet.  Curls  when  natural  are  not  difficult  of  adjustment, 
and  my  coiffure  was  made  as  usual  by  my  own  hands,  two  white 
camelias  forming  the  only  addition  to  the  profuse  tresses  that 
crowned  my  head,  my  only  point  of  personal  pride. 

I  wore  the  superb  white  Brussels  lace  dress,  that  Dr.  Quintil 
had  given  me,  over  white  satin,  with  shoes  and  gloves  to  corres- 
pond, and  my  mother's  pearls  completed  a  costume  which,  in  my 
innocent  delight,  I  thought  could  scarcely  be  surpassed.  Jasper's 
artistic  eye  was  satisfied  with  the  effect  of  the  whole,  and  Dr. 
Quintil  hovered  round  me  in  a  perfect  flutter  of  satisfaction. 

But  when  I  entered  the  crowded  and  magnificent  apartments,  I 
passed  completely  out  of  myself,  and  ceased  to  admire  or  question 
of  my  own  attire.  Had  I  worn  the  simplest  muslin  gown,  I  am 
sure  it  must  have  been  the  same,  so  entirely  does  the  power  of 
losing  self-consciousness  belong  to  and  constitute  a  part  of  the 
poetic  temperament — best  gift  after  all  of  imagination. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  339 

It  was  some  time  before  we  could  find  the  mistress  of  the  revels. 
She  had  gone  I  believe  into  the  conservatory  with  some  valued 
guest,  and  we  had  time  to  walk  around  the  house  before  she  re- 
appeared. I  had  imagined  her  a  stately,  beautiful  woman,  like 
my  grandmother,  perhaps,  and  the  shock  of  her  presence  was 
almost  unendurable  at  first,  bearing  with  it  as  it  did  a  great  dis- 
appointment. 

It  was  a  matter  of  real  concern  to  me  that  this  woman  should 
be  of  a  piece  with  all  of  her  magnificent  surroundings.  There 
seemed  a  fitness  wanting  between  that  hard-featured,  homely  face, 
suffused  with  purple,  and  bearing  the  lion's  mark  almost  in  its 
deeply  traced  lines,  and  that  huge  ungraceful  figure,  of  which  the 
mottled  arms  and  neck  were  exposed  in  youthful  fashion.  Be- 
tween these  and  the  superb  dress  of  Genoa  velvet  and  lace,  and 
exquisite  gems  that  adorned  her  person,  there  seemed  a  strange 
discrepancy.  Feathers  drooped  from  her  hair,  and  she  bore  in 
her  hand  a  fan  made  of  plumes  of  the  richest  dye,  ornamented 
with  a  bird  of  Paradise,  with  diamond  eyes,  and  claws  set  with 
rubies. 

But  her  cordial  greeting  soon  effaced  the  impression  of  her 
physique,  and  before  long  she  managed  so  to  interest  and  engross 
me  that  I  forgot  to  remark  her  features.  Her  unaffected  kindli- 
ness of  manner  toward  Dr.  Quintil  would  alone  have  won  my 
good  will ;  she  drew  him  out  as  no  one  had  ever  done  before. 
She  brought  old  scenes  before  him,  and  the  present  passed  out  of 
sight. 

He  tore  himself  away  at  last  abruptly,  and  unwillingly  I  could 
see,  and  went  to  join  her  husband,  who  sat  alone  to-night  in  his 
library,  unable  or  unwilling  to  join  the  revels  ;  and  then  it  was 
that  the  full  charm  of  her  manner  and  conversation  fell  over  BW» 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE. 

irresistibly.  Starting  at  last  as  if  afraid  of  having  bored  me,  she 
said,  "  You  do  not  dance,  Miss  de  Courcy  ;  how  is  this  ?  Are 
you  a  church  member  ?" 

"  No,  madam,"  I  replied,  "not  in  the  fullest  sense  at  least.  I 
have  never  learned  to  dance,  except  in  the  careless  and  impulsive 
fashion  of  all  joyous  children.  I  should  be  a  source  of  merri- 
ment to  your  guests  were  I  to  attempt  this  now." 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  do  not,"  she  rejoined  ;  "  selfishly  glad  I 
mean,  for  I  wish  to  talk  with  you  awhile  ;  but  I  do  not  mean  to 
monopolize  you  very  long,  there  are  too  many  eager  aspirants  for 
an  introduction  to  you  to  permit  me  to  do  this." 

"  I  will  beg  you  to  permit  me  to  remain  a  stranger  here  to 
night,"  I  said.  "  After  a  tune,  Jasper  will  return — my  escort 
here,  Dr.  Quintilian's  nephew,  and  of  the  same  name — and  we 
will  go  together  through  your  magnificent  conservatory,  of  which 
so  far  I  have  only  caught  distant  glimpses.  In  the  meantime  do 
not  let  me  detain  you  a  moment  longer  than  convenient.  I  can 
amuse  myself  perfectly  well  as  a  '  mere  looker-on  in  Vienna.' " 

"  You  are  one  of  the  few  young  persons  I  have  heard  make 
that  quotation  perfectly,"  she  rejoined,  looking  steadfastly  at  me. 
"  Accuracy  is  better  than  dancing.  Most  persons  lug  in  '  Venice' 
at  the  last." 

"Solitude  affords  opportunities  for  details,"  I  replied,  "that 
city-bred  people  lack,  but  certainly  it  has  its  disadvantages.  I 
should  certainly  like  to  dance  well,  better  than  anything  else  I 
think  ;  I  should  enjoy  the  exercise,  and  the  social  blending  and 
exhilaration  it  occasions  very  much,  but  circumstances  did  not 
permit  me  to  take  lessons." 

"  You  certainly  do  not  mean  pecuniary  circumstances,"  she 
Baid,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  Pardon  me;  I  know  the  subject 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUTEBIE.  341 

is  a  delicate  one,  but  I  feel  a  deep  interest  in  Doctor  Quintilian 
from  old  association,  and  for  some  reason  (more  difficult  to  define) 
in  you  ;  I  had  heard  that  your  grandfather  left  a  good  estate  ?" 

My  lips  moved  but  I  did  not  reply.  I  was  so  startled  by  this 
unexpected  opening  of  a  subject  usually  forbidden  ;  I  understood 
so  little  of  that  supremacy  of  position  which  makes  a  question 
graceful  from  one,  which  from  another  would  seem  impertinent. 

"  We  are  not  poor,"  I  said  at  last  in  suppressed  accents  ;  "  but 
we  lead  a  life  of  monastic  seclusion — partly  from  choice." 

"And  partly" she  interrogated,  looking  fixedly  at  me. 

"  From  necessity,"  broke  from  my  incautious  lips  almost  indig- 
nantly. 

"  And  this  necessity  is  not  poverty,  you  say.  What  then,  Miss 
de  Courcy  ?"  she  persevered. 

"  Forgive  me,  madam,  if  I  beg  to  change  this  conversation^ 
You  are  too  well  bred,  too  merciful  to  wish  to  prolong  it,  when  I 
assure  you  it  gives  me  pain.  I  must  decline  explaining  what 
necessity." 

"  My  dear,  I  honor  your  frankness,  and  I  am  glad  you  under- 
stood me  so  well.  I  am  abrupt,  inquisitorial  even  sometimes,  I 
suppose  ;  but  I  never  mean  to  be  impertinent.  Yet,  perhaps,  if 
you  knew  the  world  a  little  better,  you  would  know  how  to  waive 
replies  without  so  positively  declining  them." 

"  I  am  quite  rustic,  I  know,"  I  said,  looking  up,  crimsoning 
and  smiling  at  her  kind  reproof,  kinder  even  in  manner  than 
words,  "  and  naturally  rough  and  plain  spoken  ;  but,  like  your- 
self, I  never  mean  to  be  rude,  however  impetuous  I  may  seem. 
There  are  chords,  however,  that  vibrate  very  harshly  under  the 
slightest  touch,"  I  added. 

"  I  know — 1  know,"  she  interrupted  ;   "  one  ought  to  be  very 


342  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE. 

careful  with  strangers.  I  am  not  sufficiently  so,  I  suppose  ;  but 
I  have  been  very  much  spoiled  by  an  over-indulgent  society." 

"  Doctor  Quintil  told  me  that  you  were  considered  the  queen 
of  this  city,"  I  said,  gravely. 

"  My  dear,  are  you  in  earnest,  or  only  ironical  ?"  she  asked, 
much  amused. 

"  I  only  repeat  what  he  told  me.  I  understood  him  to  mean 
that  your  influence  was  unbounded.  Of  course,  the  word  '  Queen,' 
was  metaphorical.  I  conceived  his  meaning  perfectly,  I  think." 

"  It  has  its  limits,  Miss  de  Courcy — in  my  expenditure,"  she 
added,  between  her  set  teeth.  "  Yet  I  have  good  friends  ;  fast 
friends  that  must  not  be  suspected.  The  world  is  not  wholly 
false.  There  are  some  who  may  be  trusted — some  few,"  she 
sighed  ;  "at  least  I  am  willing  to  think  so." 

For  a  moment  a  cloud  came  over  her  countenance,  from  which 
the  purple  hue  of  excitement  had  now  subsided,  and  she  seemed 
lost  in  thought. 

"  Oh,  those  were  happy  days  !"  she  said,  musingly  ;  "  happy 
days,  when  I  suspected  nobody.  Now,  I  dare  not  confide  1  the 
supremacy  of  interested  motives  is  so  great.  Still,  let  me  not 
complain;  there  is  much  to  enjoy." 

"  To  be  the  cause  of  so  much  enjoyment  to  others  is  in  itself 
a  privilege,"  I  ventured  to  say.  "  What  a  beautiful  ball  this  is  I 
what  a  brilliant  assemblage  1  I  have  never  imagined  a  gayer, 
more  sumptuous  entertainment  !" 

"  With  such  an  imagination  as  you  possess,  this  is  conceding 
much  ;  Doctor  Quintil  has  told  me  of  your  powers." 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Quintil  overrates  me  to  my  own  confusion,"  I  said, 
coloring.  "  He  is  so  modest  for  himself,  it  is  strange  he  should 
be  so  boastful  for  me,  who  am  almost  a  part  of  himself. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  343 

"  You  have  a  right  to  talent,"  she  resumed,  "  if  indeed,  it  be  a 
heritage.  Erastus  Bouverie  was  a  man  running  over  with  it." 

My  hand  was  on  her  arm  in  a  moment,  then  as  quickly  re- 
moved. I  looked  into  her  face. 

"  You  knew  him  then  !"  I  said.  "  Tell  me— did  you— did  you 
admire  my  grandfather  ?" 

"  Extremely,  every  one  did  ;  but  how  pale  you  are— how  you 
must  love  his  memory  !  How  you  must  (let  me  speak  out,  Miss 
de  Courcy,  since  I  have  gone  so  far)  deplore  his  unhappy  fate  !  I 
honor  such  feeling."  She  spoke  with  earnestness. 

I  turned  to  conceal  my  emotion.  I  saw  Jasper  approaching 
us,  and  with  a  strong  effort  recovered  my  composure.  I  rose  and 
took  his  arm  at  once.  "  We  will  go  through  the  conservatories, 
with  your  permission,"  I  said  ;  "  I  feel  that  I  have  trespassed  too 
far  on  your  time  and  attention  already." 

"  We  shall  meet  later  in  the  evening,  I  hope,"  she  said,  smiling. 
"  Promise  me  that  you  will  not  leave  the  house  without  seeking 
me  again.  I  have  a  little  project  for  you." 

I  gave  the  desired  promise,  and  then  free  as  air  in  that  un- 
known society  we  roved  through  the  plant  and  picture  rooms, 
through  hall,  and  dancing-saloon,  and  corridor,  enjoying,  admiring 
everything,  coveting  nothing.  For  did  we  not  possess  in  the 
affection  we  gave  each  other,  more  than  all  earth's  magnificence 
could  purchase  or  supply? 

I  remember  that  Jasper  made  a  sketch  of  the  exquisite  Mexican 
plant,  the  Annunciata,  I  believe,  though  I  am  not  certain  of  the 
name,  which  represents  a  snow-white  dove  nestling  its  head  be- 
neath its  wing,  concealed,  at  first  from  view,  by  four  white  over- 
lying petals. 

There,  too,  was  tlwp  superb  Victoria  Lily,  almost  covering  the 


344  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUYEKIE. 

basin  that  contained  it,  hollowed  and  cemented  in  the  flcor  of  the 
green-house  ;  and  a  stranger  to  me  then,  the  night  blooming 
Ceres,  that  night  unclosed  her  reluctant  bosom  to  the  gaze  of 
the  crowd,  and  gave  forth  her  balmy  vanilla  breath. 

I  was  conscious  of  undivided  enjoyment  in  all  these  things. 
They  were  so  beautiful — so  new  !  they  filled  every  sensuous  requi- 
sition of  my  being,  these  and  the  clear-pealing  music,  and  the  light, 
alternately  brilliant  and  sabdued  ;  and  the  fair  and  richly 
apparelled  women,  and  graceful  men,  mingling  in  dance,  or  waltz, 
or  gallop,  and  the  magnificent  and  lavish  banquet  at  the  end  took 
captive  my  senses,  and  made  me  for  a  tune  the  slave  of  luxury. 

I  have  been  at  the  state  entertainments  of  the  rich  and  fashion- 
able since  theu  ;  but  never  at  one  that  combined  every  requisite 
of  enjoyment  as  did  that  first  ball  of  mine.  But  the  mortal  part 
of  her  whose  queenly  hand  provided  all  this  splendor,  this  pleasure, 
now  feeds  the  worm  ;  and  he  whose  firm  manly  arm  I  leant  on 
through  that  long  evening  of  enjoyment,  is  dust  and  ashes — no, 
a  glorious  angel  now  ! 

Peace  to  such  thoughts,  such  memories  ;  let  me  proceed.  My 
story  grows  upon  my  hands.  I  had  thought  to  confine  it  to  the 
house  of  Bouverie  ;  but  the  wish  to  record  that  fairy  time  of  my 
life  is  so  strong  with  me,  that  I  cannot  resist  the  inclination. 
Have  patience,  "  wedding  guest,"  the  mood  will  pass  1 

When  I  next  saw  the  lady  of  the  revels,  she  stood  in  a  small 
apartment  containing  a  piano,  and  some  smaller  instruments 
of  music.  The  baud  was  playing  on  a  distant  staircase,  there  was 
an  interval  in  the  dancing,  and  couples  promenaded  through  the 
long  corridors  and  parlors  without  restraint,  conversing  gaily. 

She  had  sent  for  me  to  meet  her  in  the  music-room,  and  1  came 
with  Dr.  Quintil  and  Jasper,  at  her  bidding* 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOCTERIE.  845 

11 1  have  heard  that  you  have  a  beautiful  voice,"  she  said  ; 
"  and  I  want  to  hear  you  sing.  Let  me  have  the  pleasure  of 
hearing  a  sweet,  natural  voice  again  ;  an  unadulterated  voice,  so 
to  speak.  I  weary  of  artificial  singing." 

"  Mine  is  wholly  uncultivated,"  I  replied  ;  "  my  grandmother 
has  been  my  only  teacher." 

"  Your  grandmother  1"  she  started  ;  "  Mrs.  Bouverie  survives, 
then.  I  thought  you  lived  alone  with  Dr.  Quintilian  ?  Tell  me," 
she  added,  after  a  pause  ;  "  is  she  still  beautiful  ?" 

"  More  beautiful  than  any  one  else  that  I  have  ever  known, 
even  in  her  age." 

"  Yet  she  is  never  heard  of,  and  dwells,  I  suppose,  in  absolute 
seclusion.  Of  what  use  is  her  beauty  ?  An  ugly  face  like  mine 
would  do  as  well  to  hide.  Tell  her  I  say  this,  and  that  she 
wrongs  society.  But  I  am  trifling  with  what  time  remains  to  us. 
Come,"  and  she  led  me  to  the  piano.  "  Music  is  my  passion, 
vocal  music  especially;  in  hearing  this  only  I  forget  myself.  What 
will  you  sing,  Miss  de  Courcy  ?" 

"  I  hardly  know.  The  songs  I  sing  are  simple  ballads  chiefly, 
some  of  them  old  and  mournful ;  they  would  not  please  you,  ac- 
customed as  you  are  to  the  finest  music." 

"  Give  me  something  in  a  minor  key,  first ;  something  slow  and 
sustained  ;  this  tests  the  truth  of  the  voice  best." 

I  sang  as  she  bade  me,  an  air  of  Mozart's,  to  which  I  had  set 
a  few  original  words  that  happened  to  suit  the  measure,  fill'ng  the 
whole  music  without  repetition.  They  were  these  : 

LIFT  NOT  THE  VEIL. 

Lift  not  the  veil  with  careless  hand, 
That  hides  a  form  of  frozen  clav  ; 
15* 


S46  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVEEIE. 

Nor  touch  with  truth's  enchanted  wand, 
The  glittering  garments  of  the  gay — 
Lest  shrinking  from  the  test  supreme, 
They  drop  to  ashes  like  your  dream. 

Believe  me — what  you  see  me  now 

Elate  in  beauty,  proud  of  mien  ; — 
Nor  rend  the  garland  from  the  brow 

Of  her  your  love  hath  crowned  a  Queen ; 
That  poisoned  chaplet,  in  your  wine, 
Would  give  to  death,  your  faith  divine. 

Alas !  for  life  !     Alas,  for  love  ! 

If  aught  beyond  the  present  fling, 
Their  garden  wealth  of  flowers  above 

The  shadow  of  a  blighting  wing ; 
Could'st  thou  behold  the  arid  past ; 
Thy  soul  would  feel  the  desert  blast ! 

Then  question  not,  of  hidden  thought ; 

Of  memory  deep,  or  vain  regret ; 
Enough  !  The  flashing  smile  you  sought, 

Is  yours  to  worship ;  then  forget ; 
The  dance,  the  song,  the  glance  are  thine ; 
But  dreams  and  solitude,  are  mine. 

"  There  are  resources  in  your  voice  that  are  not  developed  by 
that  air,  those  words,  subdued  and  tender  as  both  are,"  she  said, 
when  I  had  finished  the  little- strain.  "  Do  not  leave  the  piano  ; 
sing  something  else.  I  like  your  voice,  I  enjoy  it ;  this  is  much 
for  me  to  say,  but  there  are  depths  in  its  musical  capacity  that 
even  you  are  unacquainted  with,  I  think." 

She  mused  awhile,  and  I  ran  my  fingers  over  the  keys  in  uncer- 
tain chords,  not  liking  to  refuse  her,  and  yet  still  more  disliking  to 
comply  with  her  request. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE. 

"  And  now  another  song,  Miss  de  Courcy — a  soprano  strain— 
something  more  varied  and  passionate,  if  you  please." 

"  I  will  sing  you  then  a  favorite  song  of  Dr.  Quintilian's ; 
indeed  I  found  the  score  among  some  old  music  of  his,  in  manu- 
script, but  not  his  own,  I  assure  you,"  I  added  laughing.  "  I 
think  the  air  is  Italian,"  and  I  sang  the  song  which  suited  my 
voice  better  than  any  other,  the  simple  words  of  which  I  had 
composed. 

When  I  looked  up  after  finishing  it,  I  saw  that  the  room, 
empty  when  I  began,  was  densely  thronged.  My  first  effort  had 
brought  no  listeners,  no  commendations.  Yet  here  was  the  un- 
doubted tribute  of  hushed  admiration.  Was  it  the  song  ?  Was 
it  the  singing?  Both  appeared  indifferent  enough  to  me.  I 
never  knew  more  than  this.  I  can  say  with  all  sincerity,  I  never 
eared.  i  ;lf,tj 

Yet  it  oppressed  me  to  hare  that  silent  throng  about  the  piano 
I  tried  to  make  my  way  to  a  window  I  saw  beyond  ;  I  was 
checked  at  every  step  by  introductions,  by  murmured  compliments, 
by  insinuations  rather  than  open  expressions  of  admiration  that 
confused  and  annoyed  me. 

"  I  did  not  come  here  to  amuse  these  people,"  I  sj^id  to  Jasper 
in  whispered  tones,  as  he  made  his  way  to  me  at  lasti  "  I  care 
neither  for  their  admiration  nor  mockery,  whichever  this  may  be. 
I  ought  not  to  have  been  subjected  to  this — I,  a  stranger.  Take 
me  away  !" 

And  tears  of  pure  vexation  stood  in  my  eyes.  The  window 
opened  to  a  verandah  into  which  we  passed  unobserved.  In  another 
moment  we  stood  out  in  the  clear,  cold  moonlight,  beneath  the 
eye  of  heaven.  The  buzz  of  the  multitude  came  from  within,  and 
the  gaslight  streamed  from  the  windows.  But  we  were  as  com- 


348  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   £OTJVERIE. 

pletely  shut  away  from  that  artificial  life  as  if  sea&  bau  divided 
us  from  it. 

We  stood  for  a  time  enjoying  that  deep,  sweet,  intense  solitude, 
the  more  perfect  for  being  so  near  a  crowd  ;  then  turning,  as  we 
became  aware  of  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  sought  a  private  en- 
trance to  the  hall,  througt  which  we  were  to  find  our  final  egress. 
As  we  passed  the  window  of  the  music  room,  from  which  we  had 
lately  emerged.  I  heard  the  voice  of  our  hostess  say  in  loud,  un- 
decided tones : 

"  There  never  was  but  one  voice  like  that  before,  and  that  be- 
longed to  Madame  Malibran." 

"  Oui  Madame,"  was  the  sharp  reply  of  the  man,  "  bearded 
like  a  pard,"  we  saw  shrugging  his  shoulders  by  the  piano. 
"  Mais  que  voulez  vous  ?  Elle  a  des  larmes  dans  sa  voix  c'est 
vrai ;  cependant,  c'est  une  voix  sauvage,  tout  a  fait,  tout  a  fait." 

The  criticism  died  into  thin  air,  both  really  and  metaphorically, 
and  I  should  have  forgotten  it  long  ago  but  for  the  amusement 
it  caused  Jasper.  The  literal  translation  was  often  afterward 
applied  to  my  voice  by  him. 

Before  we  left  the  city  on  the  following  day,  I  received  a 
superb  bouquet  of  exotic  flowers  from  royalty,  together  with  a 
note  containing  an  invitation  to  return  in  the  winter  and  make 
a  visit  at  her  palace,  and  take  lessons  from  able  artists  in  vocal 
and  instrumental  music,  at  her  cost,  for  old  acquaintance  sake. 

The  well-intended  and  liberal  offer  was  declined,  but  never  for- 
gotten. She  believed  evidently,  despite  appearances,  in  our 
poverty,  and  sought  to  remove  one  of  its  harshest  stings,  the 
necessity  of  neglecting  talent.  Who  shall  say  this  woman  was 
not  generous,  or  deny  her  the  possession  of  heart,  even  in  the 
midst  of  fashionable  frivolity  ?  v 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  849 

I  have  said  truly,  that  the  words  of  the  second  song  were 
simple,  yet  perhaps  they  caught  something  of  the  tenderness  of 
the  sweet  old  strain  to  winch  they  were  wholly  adapted,  and 
thus  I  venture  to  insert  them  here  : 

NEVER  AGAIN,  MINE  OWN. 
(Italian  air.) 

Never  again,  never  again  mine  own, 

Shall  our  fond  voices  blend  in  speech  or  song; 
Murmur  of  mine,  whether  of  ruth  or  wrong, 

Shall  haunt  thee  with  its  wild  and  thrilling-  tone 
Of  tenderest  pity,  or  of  deepest  pain, 

"  Never  again,  mine  own,  never  again." 

When  you  behold  the  dim  and  dying  moon 
Fade  in  the  glory  of  the  vernal  day, 
Or  watch  a  pale  rose  on  its  pendent  spray 

Wave  in  the  nightwind  of  the  balmy  June, 

They  will  renew  to  thee  the  solemn  strain— 
"  Never  again,  mine  own,  never  again." 

When  a  white  dove  against  a  stormy  sky 

Flies  with  its  cleaving  pinions,  fast  and  free, 
Or  the  wind  moaneth  in  the  aspen-tree, 

Tossing  its  ghostly,  silvery  leaves  on  high, 
Thy  soul  will  yearn  to  join  the  old  refrain, 

"  Never  again,  mine  own,  never  again." 

For  well  I  loved  these  tokens,  they  to  me 
Were  linked  with  aspirations  far  and  dim, 
And  stirred  my  being  as  a  choral  hymn, 

Lofty  and  sorrowful  of  things  to  be — 
For  me  the  flower  shall  wave,  the  moon  shall  wane, 

"  Never  again,  mine  own,  never  again." 


850  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

But  unto  thee  their  presence  shall  be  fraught 
With  a  strange  tenderness,  a  new  regret ; 
They  shall  remind  thee  how  we  loved  and  met, 

How  parted,  with  what  depth  of  patient  thought. 

I  bore,  as  I  shall  bear,  thy  cold  disdain, 
•*  Never  again,  mine  own,  never  again." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEEIE.  891 


CHAPTER  VII. 

How  joyous  was  that  return  to  Bouverie — how  fond  was  our 
welcome — how  delightful  our  reunion  !  We  returned  laden  with 
presents  and  with  news.  No  one  was  forgotten.  Jasper  brought 
his  mother  a  superior  timepiece  ;  Dr.  Quintil,  a  long-desired  carpet 
for  her  dining-room,  humbly  and  gratefully  receiving  the  well- 
worn,  cast-off  floor-covering  for  his  particular  sanctum,  where,  he 
earnestly  affirmed,  a  new  carpet  would  "  make  him  miserable  !" 

"  Think  of  the  inevitable  tobacco-stains,  and  then  imagine  the 
feelings  of  an  economist  like  myself,  in  seeing  a  Brussels  tapestry 
so  disfigured.  I  tell  you,  this  well-worn  ingrain  is  a  perfect  God- 
send, for  mine  has  just  taken  French-leave,  and  a  new  one  would 
set  me  crazy." 

So  he  had  it  his  own  way,  and  we  humored  the  humorist 
Dame  McConnick  and  Bianca  rejoiced  in  brown  merino  dresses, 
and  high-topped  combs — the  last  worn  by  the  singularly  hideous 
and  eccentric  person  first  mentioned,  among  her  grizzled  locks  (in 
defiance  of  all  known  laws  on  the  subject,  with  the  teeth  stuck  in 
the  wrong  way),  so  that  she  looked  like  a  stag  of  ten  on  high- 
days  and  holidays  ever  after. 

For  my  grandfather  there  were  books  and  engravings,  and  an 
exquisite  snuff-box  ;  and  for  Fabius,  a  cane  and  a  beaver  hat — the 
last  so  speckless,  and  fitting  him  so  admirably,  that,  to  use  Bianca's 
expression,  "  he  looked  as  though  he  had  been  born  with  it  on  his 
head,"  an  expression  that  we  considered  quite  Shakspearean,  re- 
minding us,  as  it  did,  of  "  to  the  manor  born,"  and  scarcely  more 


'i52  THS   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVERIE. 

obscure  or  metaphorical.  These  presents  were  valued  none  the 
less  for  their  perfect  inutility. 

As  for  Pat  McCormick,  who  possessed  a  dreary  taste  for  music, 
we  made  him  happy  with  an  accordeon.  from  which  he  pulled  un- 
willing melodies,  tortured  and  transmogrified  by  the  process  so  as 
to  be  scarcely  recognizable  by  ears  polite.  Among  the  sheep  and 
swine  of  Bouverie  he  was,  however,  evidently  accounted  a  second 
Orpheus.  They  gathered  about  him  in  astonished  admiration. 
and  "Days  of  Absence"  became  a  watchword  to  all  recreant 
animals  of  this  description,  that  restrained  enterprise,  and  recalled 
them  to  a  sense  of  their  present  condition.  Much  depends,  how- 
ever, on  a  sympathetic  audience,  in  achieving  any  artistic 
success. 

I  noticed  that  the  fastidious  ear  of  "  Violet  Fane  "  was  fear- 
fully pricked,  whenever  Pat  began  to  draw  out  his  "  linked  sweet- 
ness ;"  and  the  lugubrious  wail  of  the  "  Soldier's  Tear,"  suddenly 
commenced  by  him  after  leading  the  creature  to  her  master,  and 
committing  the  carelessly  received  reins  to  his  hands,  leaving  his 
fingers  free  to  touch  his  accordeon,  had  nearly  put  an  end  to 
Jasper. 

After  the  first  glow  of  meeting  was  over,  I  perceived  again,  as 
upon  a  former  occasion,  traces  of  unusual  depression  about  my 
grandmother.  There  was  no  reason  for  this  that  I  could  fathom. 
Health  reigned  in  her  household,  and  a  more  than  usually  boun- 
teous season  blessed  the  laud. 

Before  long  this  was  explained  in  the  following  manner.  1 
found  Dr.  Quintil  walking  the  floor  very  impatiently,  one  morning, 
with  a  perturbed  countenance,  as  I  entered  the  dining-room.  1 
stopped,  and  gazed  at  him  with  evident  concern,  then  turned  to 
withdraw. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          353 

"  Come  in,  Lilian,"  he  said  ;  "  it  will  relieve  me  to  tell  you  of 
my  annoyance  ;  and  you  must  learn  to  bear  your  part  of  every 
burden  of  Bouverie,  now  that  you  are  identified  with  us  all  for  life. 
I  find  that  during  our  absence,  that  scoundrel,  Smith,  has  been 
harassing  your  grandmother's  life  out ;  and  his  last  demand  has  been 
flatly — she  fears,  injudiciously — refused,  fco  that  there  is  no  telling 
what  may  come  to  pass." 

"  What  was  the  demand,  Dr.  Quintil,  and  what  does  he  dare  to 
threaten  her  with  ?  The  wretch  knows  nothing  !" 

"  More  than  we  have  supposed,  I  fear,  Lilian.  Heaven  knows 
there  may  have  been  treachery  somewhere,  though  I  hardly  think 
that.  We  certainly  have  used  every  precaution  ;  and,  if  we  fail, 
God  help  us  !  we  cannot,  at  all  events,  reproach  ourselves." 

"  Does  he  want  money,  or  what  ?"  I  asked,  in  a  husky  voice, 
while  mjr  heart  sank  within  me  with  a  sick  foreboding. 

"  Do  not  be  frightened,"  he  said,  approaching  me  kindly,  and 
drawing  me  to  a  seat,  "or  I  shall  regret  having  made  any  commu- 
nication to  you  on  the  subject.  Ii  is  such  a  comfort,  when  a  man 
is  in  trouble,  to  be  surrounded  with  cool,  courageous  women. 
The  time  to  be  nervous  is  when  all  danger  is  over."  He  smiled, 
to  reassure  me. 

"  You  apprehend  danger,  then  ?" 

"Inconvenience,  rather  than  danger,"  he  replied.  "Smith 
boldly  declares  his  belief  that  there  is  a  concealed  inmate  at  Bou- 
verie, and  demands  five  thousand  dollars  as  the  price  of  his  secrecy. 
On  receiving  this,  he  swears  to  return  to  England,  and  to  reappear 
no  more  on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic,  as  well  as  to  preserve  his 
discovery — for  such  he  has  the  temerity  to  call  it—inviolate.  He 
has  the  impudence  to  talk  about  the  injury  his  character  would 
sustain,  should  the  matter  ever  be  brought  to  light,  and,  for  the 


864  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIK. 

6rst  time  since  we  left  her,  has  accosted  your  grandmother  on 
the  subject." 

"  He  has  spoken  before  of  his  conviction  to  Biauca,  you  re- 
member." 

"  I  recollect  it  well ;  but  his  insolence  in  approaching  Mrs. 
Bouverie  surpasses  everything  !  I  half  believe  I  should  be  justi- 
fiable in  shooting  him  like  a  dog.  I  certainly  shall — and  I  have 
sent  him  word  to  that  effect — if  he  ever  addresses  another  syllable 
to  her  on  any  subject  except  that  of  his  garden.  But  I  do  not 
wish  to  shed  blood,  if  it  can  be  helped.  It  is  a  necessity  I  recoil 
from."  He  shuddered. 

"  Give  him  the  five  thousand  dollars,  then,  and  let  him  go  !  If 
you  will  advance  it,  I  will  give  up  my  inheritance  when  I  become 
of  age,  to  repay  you.  Anything  is  better  than  this  torture." 

He  hesitated.  "  I  cannot  command  this  sum  just  now,"  he 
said.  "  What  I  have,  is  loaned  out  for  a  term  of  years,  with  the 
exception  of  a  little  gold  ;  and  I  spend  every  cent  of  my  income — 
I  save  nothing.  Besides,  Lilian,  where  would  the  matter  end  ? 
Would  he  not,  like  the  leech's  daughter,  still  cry  '  give,  give  ?' 
Your  grandmother,  it  is  true,  might,  by  mortgage  on  this  pro- 
perty, realize  this  sum,  were  it  judicious^  to  do  this  ;  but  the  in- 
terest, if  not  kept  down,  would  soon  eat  up  Bouverie,  and  that  is 
her  whole  estate.  At  his  death  and  hers,  you  receive  your  grand- 
father's income  (you  know  the  estate  from  which  it  springs  cannot 
be  alienated,  though  he  had  the  right  to  divert  it,  as  he  did,  by 
some  intricate  management  of  the  eccentric  Ursa  Bouverie,  during 
her  life) ;  and  I  believe,  though  death  stared  him  in  the  face,  Mr. 
Bouverie  would  never  consent  to  lend  himself  to  such  a  sacrifice,  as 
he  would  be  obliged  to  make  personally,  to  silence  Smith.  Yet,  I 
may  be  mistaken." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  355 

"  Shall  I  broach  the  subject,  Dr.  Quintil  ?" 

"  No,  decidedly  no  ;  it  would  be  better  to  remove  him  if  it 
same  to  that.  We  could  all  remove  to  Italy  at  a  far  less  sacri- 
fice, by  proceeding  cautiously  in  the  matter,  and  with  the  assist- 
ance Bishop  Clare  would  and  could  give  us.  There  we  could  live 
in  comfort,  and  unknown." 

"  Such  determined  hostility,  it  seems  to  me,  would  track  us 
even  there.  We  cannot  resist  this  wretch  ;  let  us  try  to  compro- 
mise." 

"  That  would  be  to  acknowledge  the  truth  of  his  accusation, 
and  so  place  ourselves  eternally  in  his  power.  We  must  repel  it, 
now  that  we  have  gone  so  far,  and  by  additional  caution  elude 
further  observation  on  his  part.  He  will  not  move  in  the  matter 
just  now  I  think,  and  Bishop  Clare  will  soon  be  here  ;  then  we 
can  sit  in  council,  but  for  the  present  we  must  not  alarm  Mr. 
Bouverie." 

"Do  you  think  that  were  the  sum  he  asks  granted  him — a 
fortune  in  his  condition — Smith  would  forfeit  his  part  of  the 
agreement,  and  return  for  more  ?  Is  that  your  idea,  Dr.  Quin- 
til?" 

"  I  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  we  should  only  be  able  to 
purchase  temporary  security  by  making  terms  with  him.  The 
better  plan,  it  seems  to  me,  for  the  present  at  least,  is  to  pay  him 
good  wages,  and  keep  him  in  our  employment.  When  he  finds 
he  cannot  intimidate  us  into  concessions,  he  will  come  to  his 
senses.  He  has  already  been  the  gainer  by  preserving  silence. 
Your  grandmother  has  not  dared  to  refuse  him  any  advance  to 
his  wages  demanded  so  far,  for  some  tune  past.  He  knows  this, 
but  presumed  too  far  at  last." 

"  How  has  he  behaved  since  then  ?" 


356  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEKIE. 

"  Oh,  very  humbly.  Perhaps  after  all,  her  impulse,  for  the  con* 
sequences  of  which  she  trembles,  taught  her  to  treat  him  as  was 
best  for  such  a  reptile.  Now  if  he  were  only  an  American  I 
might  deal  with  him  ;  but  what  can  one  do  with  a  grovelling 
foreigner  ?" 

"  Or  even  a  Catholic,"  I  suggested.  "  Bishop  Clare  could  con- 
trol him  in  that  case." 

"  Yes,  would  that  he  were  a  Catholic,  Lily  ;  something  might 
be  made  of  him  then." 

At  another  time  I  might  have  smiled  at  this  incautious  admis- 
sion of  an  avowed  Calvinist,  but  matters  were  serious  now — too 
menacing  for  mirth. 

Soon  after  this  conversation,  letters  arrived  from  Colonel  de 
Courcy  and  his  attorney,  acquainting  Dr.  Quintil  with  the  death 
of  Lady  Constance  Torrlngton,  and  my  consequent  inheritance  of 
her  private  estate."  This  was  small  in  English  eyes,  but  to  me, 
with  my  habits  of  frugality,  five  thousand  pounds  was  a  brilliant 
accession,  and,  added  to  the  small  independence  that  I  already 
possessed,  would  make  me  comparatively  rich. 

Yet  every  shilling  of  this  should  go  in  my  grandfather's  service, 
if  needed  to  defend  him  from  persecution,  as  soon  as  I  could  com- 
mand it.  I  was  determined  on  this,  and  I  knew  that  Jasper 
would  not  oppose  the  desire  of  my  heart. 

He  had  enough  I  knew  to  support  us  both  in  modest  comfort  ; 
his  talents  would  ere  long  bring  him  wealth  and  honor,  I  firmly 
believed.  I  felt  certain  now  that  if  we  could  temporize  witb 
Smith,  he  might  finally  be  purchased  by  the  settlement  of  an  an- 
nuity, the  payment  of  which  should  be  conditional  on  his  silence, 
the  capital  to  be  his  finally  ;  that  is  after  the  expiration  of  my 
grandfather's  natural  life. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUTERIE.  357 

llie  possession  of  the  means  whereby  to  protect  my  grand- 
father's existence  from  annoyance  and  even  danger,  brought  a 
glow  to  my  heart  and  cheek,  and  reacted  on  all  around  me.  Yet 
I  was  not  insensible  to  the  mournful  fate  of  that  relative,  from 
whom  circumstances  had  divided  my  career. 

Death  was,  however,  preferable  to  the  life  she  had  led.  She 
had  been, for  years  in  a  nervous  condition,  bordering  at  times  on 
insanity,  caused,  it  was  supposed,  by  her  domestic  sorrows,  but  of 
these  no  one  knew  more  than  the  garrulity  of  servants,  or  the  un- 
disguised harshness  of  her  husband  made  evident. 

The  charm,  whatever  it  was,  that  attracted  her  to  him  in  the 
beginning,  sealed  her  lips,  and  riveted  her  chains  through  life. 
Had  children  been  born  to  her,  an  alleviation  of  her  grief  might 
have  been  afforded  by  maternal  care  and  affection.  Or  even  had 
I  gone  to  her  as  a  daughter,  some  consolation  might  have  risen 
from  our  intercourse. 

Sometimes  I  think  my  duty  pointed  that  way,  although  I 
shudder  to  think  of  the  thorny  path  I  must  have  trodden  in  its 
performance.  Again,  I  feel  convinced  that  an  all-wise  Providence 
shaped  my  destiny,  and  that  no  human  intervention  could  have 
changed  it  from  its  course. 

Colonel  de  Courcy  was  necessarily  trustee  until  I  attained  my 
majority,  and  he  wrote  to  Dr.  Quintil,  as  my  legal  guardian,  to 
apprise  him  of  the  steps  he  had  taken.  He  mentioned  me  with 
cold  courtesy,  made  no  allusion  to  Edith  Howe,  waived  all 
knowledge  of  my  grandmother's  existence,  and  seemed  to 
have  drawn  back  into  his  shell,  as  if  regretting  that  he  had 
ever  compromised  his  dignity  by  venturing  so  far  from  its  narrow 
limits. 

More  than  ever  now  I  felt  that  an  impassable  barrier  had  risen 


358  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEKIE. 

between  me  and  Taunton  Tower  ;  more  than  ever  I  surrendered  my 
whole  being  to  those  around  me. 

There  was  a  strange  joy  to  me  in  the  feeling  that  one  house 
contained  all  that  I  loved  or  cared  for  in  this  world.  I  that 
was  born  ambitious,  through  the  power  of  happiness  and  affection 
became  totally  indifferent  to  every  promise  of  fame,  or  voice  of 
society. 

It  was  pleasant  to  hear,  and  see,  and  enjoy  these  things  at  a 
safe  distance  ;  to  skim  the  papers,  to  read  of  distant  pageantry 

and  luxury,  and  fashion.  Of  what  the  beautiful  Mrs.  C was 

doing  in  New  York,  or  the  brilliant  Madam  J in  "Washing- 
ton, or  the  plain,  little  queen  and  her  stately  court  in  England,  or 
the  French  elite  in  Paris. 

My  grandmother  was  infinitely  amused  by  the  vivid  delight  I 
took  in  all  these  descriptions  of  people,  who  moved  before  me, 
like  characters  hi  novels,  real  in  imagination  only — therefore 
more  real  to  me  than  if  I  had  connected  with  them  any  personal 
identity. 

"  If  you  could  only  see  them,  Lilian,  as  they  are — for  these  are 
flesh-and-blood  characters,  after  all — how  your  interest  would 
slacken  in  them,  and  their  affairs  ?  I  have  seen  enough  of  the 
world  to  know,  that,  with  a  moderate  share  of  good  looks,  some 
tact,  more  self-possession,  a  taste  for  dress,  and  a  capacity  for  flat- 
tery, a  very  ordinary  woman  may  lead  society.  Aye,  lead  those 
a  thousand  tunes  more  gifted,  more  beautiful,  more  refined,  than 
herself — for  women  of  the  latter  stamp  rarely  possess  the  practical 
audacity  necessary  to  put  themselves  forward  hi  the  full  glare  of 
the  public  eye. 

"Blunt  nerves,  and  universal  good  nature,  must  belong  to  the 
leader  of  society  who  makes  her  way  to  such  position  by  dint  of 


f  THE  HODSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          359 

her  own  determined  assurance.  There  are,  indeed,  rare  instances 
where  women  of  the  highest  caste  are  borne  up  by  the  force  of  cir- 

Icumstances  to  the  topmost  rung  of  the  ladder  ;  but  it  is  not  with- 
out immense  sacrifice  and  suffering  that  they  maintain  themselves 
on  this  giddy  height. 

/*"*  "  The  fatal  facility  of  being  bored,  so  common  with  high-strung 
•v  people,  makes  it  almost  intolerable  to  them  to  come  in  daily 
^smiling  contact  with  the  cold,  the  mean,  the  common-place.  How- 
ever dear  the  admiration  of  the  few  friends  she  esteems  may  be 
to  a  woman  of  high  culture  and  sensibility,  the  approaches  of  the 
fawning  flatterer,  or  the  airs  of  self-constituted  importance,  are 
equally  distasteful  and  fatiguing. 

"  So,  Lilian,  this  hard  world-service  does  not  repay  its  votaries 
after  all,  unless  they  are  coarse  enough,  and  hard  enough,  to  go 
ungalled  from  the  harness." 

I  smiled  at  my  grandmother's  little  lecture.  "Actors  are  very 
weary,  often,"  I  said,  "when  spectators  are  quite  fresh,  and  full 
of  delight  in  their  performance.  So,  at  this  safe  distance,  it  is 
pleasant  to  look  on,  and  trace  the  career  of  people  so  removed 
from  us  that  they  appear  no  more  than  histrionic  characters. 
And,  in  spite  of  all  you  say — every  word  of  which,  I  know,  is 
wrung  from  deep  experience — I  am  so  self-willed  that  I  cannot 
help  admiring  a  woman,  self-poised  enough,  and  resolute  enough, 
to  lead  the  many-headed  monster.  I  think  the  same  sort  of 
intellect  is  required  for  this,  that  makes  men  rulers  in  higher 
places." 

"  Lilian,  mere  success  is  not  worthy  of  admiration,  in  any  case, 
unless  based  on  high  motives.  The  greatest  men  of  this  world 
have  probably  been  unsuccessful ;  the  noblest  women  I  have  ever 
known,  have  been  obscure.  ;  Circumstances  have  so  much  to  du 


360  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BODVEKIE. 

with  success,/  See  how  they  threw  up  to  the  very  crest  of  the 
wave,  that  bold,  bad  man,  Napoleon  Bonaparte.  An  exhausted 
horse  can  be  managed  by  a  child.  Caesar,  you  know,  cried, 
'  Give  me  some  drink,  Titania,'like  a  sick  girl,  when  ill  in  Spain— 
so  Shakspeare  says  ;  and  nations  have  their  tunes  to  be  sick,  and 
accept  any  leader  that  presents  himself.  I  have  long  ceased  to 
merge  merit  in  success." 

"  Then  you  won't  think  the  less  of  me,  grandmother,  if  my  book 
falls  flat  from  the  press.  I  am  so  glad  of  that !" 

"  Your  book,  Lilian  ?" 

"  Don't  you  know  about  my  book  of  poems,  that  Dr.  Quintil  is 
going  to  have  published,  and  that  Jasper  and  he  like  eo  much — 
but,  of  course,  they  are  very  partial  critics — and  that  my  grand- 
father says  is  nothing  but  a  bundle  of  sticks,  strong  only  in  com- 
panionship— very  ill-natured,  was  it  not? — and  that  you,  dear 
grandmother,  have  never  read  a  line  of  ?" 

"  Oh,  Lilian,  don't  venture  on  such  a  step — you  are  too  young, 
too  inexperienced,  to  write  well.  You  know  I  have  always  dis- 
couraged this  inclination  on  your  part ;  but,  if  you  will  write,  take 
tune  and  thought,  at  least." 

"  Grandmother,  I  have,  to  write." 

"  My  dear,  where  is  the  necessity  ?" 

"  Here,"  I  said,  laughing,  pointing  to  my  brow  and  breast. 
"  Don't  you  know  that  poets  write  because  they  must,  not  because 
they  can  ?  You  remind  me  of  Talleyrand's  reply  to  the  man  who 
was  urging  him  for  employment,  because  he  said  he  must  live  : — 
'  Mon  ami,  je  u'en  vois  pas  la  ndcessiteV  " 

She  smiled.  "Ah,  Lilian,  you  worship  fame — this  is  your  ne- 
cessity, I  fear." 

"  I  expect  none,"  I  answered  earnestly.     "  My  name  will  never 


T3E   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  361 

be  known  in  connection  with  these  poems,  nor  suspected  ;  yet,  if 
approved,  it  will  be  pleasant  for  all  around  me  to  know  that  I 
possessed  some  power  ;  and,  if  they  fail,  I  know  you  will  think 
none  the  less  of  me  for  such  failure.  SSo  I  shall  placidly  await 
the  issue." 


16 


302  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUFERM. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ALL  this  time  the  subject  of  so  much  anxiety  kept  on  the  even 
tenor  of  his  way  above-stairs,  passing  the  mellow,  melancholy 
autumn  hours  as  best  he  might,  in  books,  in  thought,  in  work,  of 
his  peculiar  kind — in  society,  such  as  his  house  afforded  him,  and 
in  dreams  of  that  brilliant  future,  which,  like  the  Aurora  of  the 
northern  heavens,  flushed  with  its  rosy  light  the  long  and  dreary 
night  of  his  captivity. 

It  strikes  me  now  as  something  strange  that  my  grandfather 
never  seemed  to  connect  any  idea  of  change  with  my  condition. 
Had  he  made  up  his  mind  that  my  individuality  was  to  be  merged 
in  that  of  others,  and  that  the  names,  so  dear  to  woman's  heart — 
those  of  wife  and  mother — were  never  to  be  applied  to  me  ?  Or, 
did  he  foresee,  as  a  blind  necessity  of  my  position,  that  end  from 
which  he  recoiled  with  such  bitter  and  ineffectual  pain,  when 
forced  on  his  notice  at  last  ? 

Was  it  from  such  apprehension — such  certainty,  almost — that 
he  seemed  to  ignore  Jasper's  very  existence,  so  that  I  never  ven- 
tured to  breathe  his  name  before  him,  or  allude  to  his  genius  ? 
And  yet  I  felt  that  he  must  have  known  of  his  presence,  his  ab- 
sence, of  his  return,  of  his  vocation,  of  his  peculiar  devotion  to  me. 
Even  Fabius,  the  uncommunicative,  must  have  signified,  in  time, 
something  of  all  these  things,  either  by  direct  or  indirect  allusions, 
or  by  accidental  remark,  never  lost  on  one  so  quick,  so  apprehen- 
sive, as  my  grandfather.  This  matter  remains,  must  ever  remain, 
mysterious  to  me. 

• 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  363 

It  will  be  remembered  that  since  the  experiment  of  the 
"  draught  of  life,"  my  visits  to  my  grandfather's  apartments  had 
been  made  in  the  company  of  others  only.  To  this  arrangement 
he  had  ventured  no  remonstrance  ;  nor,  since  the  first  ineffectual 
effort  to  change  my  grandmother's  resolution  on  this  subject,  had 
I  offered  the  slightest  opposition.  It  was  in  the  month  of  Sep- 
tember that,  for  the  first  and  last  tune,  I  broke  through  the  some- 
what arbitrary,  yet  acknowledged  law  that  had  heretofore  re- 
strained me,  and  went  alone  to  the  sealed  apartments  of  Bouverie. 

At  the  termination  of  a  meal,  Fabius,  who  had  purposely  de- 
tained me  for  a  draught  of  water  I  had  asked  for,  pretending 
that  it  was  not  properly  iced,  until  my  grandmother  and  Dr. 
Quintil  had  left  the  room,  placed  very  mysteriously  in  my  hand  a 
Blip  of  paper  containing  a  few  words  in  the  well-known  caligraphy 
of  my  grandfather — characters  so  clear  and  even  I  have  never 
seen  elsewhere  out  of  print. 

"  Lilian,  can  you  come  to  me  ?"  ran  the  message.  "  I  must 
see  you  alone,  once  more.  This  is  no  whim,  but  an  urgent 
necessity,  such  as  may  never  occur  again.  Be  secret,  and  meet 
Fabius  in  the  plant-room  at  midnight.  He  will  conduct  you." 

For  a  moment  I  hesitated.  Although  I  had  given  no  promise 
to  that  effect,  my  unresisting  obedience  seemed  a  tacit  agreement 
on  my  part  to  fulfill  my  grandmother's  wishes  ;  and  I  felt  it  was 
wrong  to  violate  this,  however  unwillingly  accorded.  Yet  to  dis- 
appoint him,  whose  claims  on  my  duty  seemed  also  undeniable, 
was  hardest  of  all.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  struggle. 

I  looked  up,  still  holding  the  paper  in  my  hand,  still  undeter- 
mined what  to  do.  The  old  man  was  intently  watching  my  face. 
perhaps,  reading  my  internal  conflict  in  its  expression.  When 
bis  eyes  met  mine  he  went  on  again  with  his  work,  that  of  clear- 


364  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

ing  away  the  table-service,  as  if  perfectly  indifferent  to  mj 
decision. 

Yet,  when  I  said  at  last  :  "  Fabius,  I  will  go  I"  he  could  not 
conceal  his  satisfaction. 

"  I  will  meet  you  in  the  plant-room,  with  a  lantern,  at  twelve 
o'clock,  Miss  Lilian.  You  shall  not  go  up  that  steep  ladder  in 
the  dark  this  time." 

"  Be  punctual ;   I  will  be  there,"  I  said,  somewhat  impatient 

« 
of  his  allusion  to  my  willful  adventure,  which  I  supposed  to  be  a 

secret,  at  least  from  him. 

He  looked  wistfully  at  me  for  a  moment,  laid  his  finger  on  his 
lip,  then  taking  up  his  tray  of  glass,  left  the  dining-room. 

"  Fabius  is  growing  garrulous,"  I  thought;  "  what  will  happen 
next  ?  and  after  all,  what  can  my  poor  grandfather  want  ?  Per- 
haps, he  has  heard  of  Smith's  proceedings  ;  perhaps,  he  contem- 
plates an  escape.  Great  heavens  !  where  is  all  this  to  end  ? 
How  I  wish  Jasper  were  at  home.  Alas  !  he  has  grown  so 
necessary  to  me,  that  my  powers  of  thought  are  crippled  in  his 
temporary  absence." 

That  night  my  grandmother  detained  me  long  in  her  chamber, 
talking  to  me  more  openly  than  she  had  yet  done  of  her  contem- 
plated arrangements  for  my  comfort.  I  scarcely  knew  what  I 
was  saying  when  called  upon  to  reply,  and  felt  unutterably  re- 
lieved when  at  last  she  dismissed  me  with  the  words  :  "  Sleep 
soundly,  dearest ;  it  is  almost  twelve  o'clock  !" 

It  was  not  her  custom  to  enter  my  room  after  I  had  retired  for 
the  night,  and  the  door,  except  in  warm  weather,  was  usually 
closed  between  us,  so  that  I  ran  little  risk  of  being  discovered  •; 
yet,  the  certainty  of  this  would  not  have  deterred  me  from  the 
course  I  pursued.  At  twelve  o'clock  I  found  Fabius  waiting  for 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKIE.  865 

me  in  the  conservatory,  with  the  key  of  the  basement  ladder- 
room  in  his  hand,  and  a  few  moments  later,  I  stood,  after  clam- 
bering cautiously  up  the  stairway,  breathless  with  excitement  in 
my  grandfather's  presence. 

He  was  sitting  in  his  great  chair  in  the  centre  of  the  hall  as  I 
entered  it,  near  the  round  table  with  its  scarlet  cloth,  on  which, 
as  on  the  first  night  of  my  secret  visit  to  his  chamber,  a  lamp  and 
candles  were  burning.  The  night  was  chill  for  that  usually 
clement  season,  and  he  was  dressed  to  meet  its  requirements,  in 
that  warm  dressing-gown  of  crimson  and  purple  flowered  brocade 
which  had  invested  him,  in  Pat  McCormick's  eyes,  with  the 
dignity  of  a  king  ;  nay,  the  Pope  himself.  It  certainly  became 
him  well,  and  brought  into  almost  startling  relief  his  intense 
pallor,  and  rich  flowing  steel-colored  hair,  and  the  flashing  bril- 
liancy of  his  eyes.  There  was  an  expression  on  his  face  that  I 

had  never  seen  it  wear  before,  and  which  for  a  moment  held  me 

• 
silent  and  spell-bound  before  him.     He  looked  to  me  like  a  man 

over  whom  some  great  change  was  passing  even  then,  a  change 
that  might  be  called  a  crisis,  such  as  that  which  comes  to  a 
young  man  suddenly  stricken  into  age  by  the  agency  of  fear  or 
grief.  Or  rather  to  my  excited  fancy  he  appeared  that  night  in 
his  wanness  and  solitude,  like  one  spared  from  a  shipwreck  or  an 
earthquake,  or  a  volcanic  overflow  ;  one  of  many  to  testify  by 
the  anguish  of  his  physical  change  to  their  otherwise  unre- 
corded horrors. 

There  are  times,  I  believe,  in  the  lives  of  men,  when  their  fate 
draws  near  to  them,  and  its  shadow  rests  above  them,  however 
distant  may  be  its  consummation. 

"Who  has  not  seen  a  vulture  swoop  above  its  prey,  and  then 
soar  away  again  with  its  wide  outspread  wings  as  if  destined 


366  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

never  to  return  ?  Who  does  not  know  that  after  it  has  ex« 
hausted  itself  in  upper  air  by  graceful  and  manifold  gyrations  it 
will  descend  once  more  to  seize  that  which  it  merely  shadowed 
before  ? 

Look  back,  you  who  writhe  in  the  talons  of  the  inevitable,  and 
recall  the  dark  forebodings  which  the  dusk  shadow  of  its  wings 
long  since  has  shed  above  you,  and  recognize  the  intention  of 
your  doom. 

"  Lilian,"  he  said,  "  you  have  come,  I  knew  you  would.  You 
are  punctual,  too — a  king's  virtue,  child.  Have  you  been  secret 
as  well  ?" 

"  I  have  obeyed  you,  grandfather,"  I  replied,  a  little  coldly 
perhaps. 

He  took  my  hand,  he  gazed  upon  my  face,  he  murmured  of  the 
pleasure  my  prompt  acquiescence  with  his  wish  had  given  him,  of 
the  joy  my  presence  always  afforded  him. 

Touched  and  grateful,  I  knelt  before  him,  on  his  low  footstool, 
and  kissed  his  hands. 

He  held  my  wrists  in  his  grasp,  silently  for  a  time.  I  felt  that 
he  was  counting  my  pulses. 

"There  is  health  enough  in  these  young  veins,"  he  said,  "to 
justify  me  in  making  the  request  I  have  sent  for  you  to  prefer. 
The  rich  life-blood  abounds  here  even  to  superfluity.  Lilian,  you 
have  blood,  and  to  spare." 

"  Blood,  grandfather,"  I  repeated,  struggling  slightly  to  with- 
draw my  arm.  "  You  do  not  want  my  blood,  I  hope  ?  Is  he 
insane  after  all  ?"  was  the  rapid  thought  that  swept  through  me, 
"  and  is  this  &  part  of  the  past,  so  long  esteemed  as  crime,  mero 
madness  at  last  ?" 

He  relinquished  his  hold  immediately,  and  said  with  evident 


;          THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVERIE.  367 

mortification,  "  You  surely  do  not  think  I  mean  to  harm  you, 
Lilian  ?" 

I  stood  before  him  with  my  head  cast  down,  as  the  guilty  stand 
before  their  accusers. 

"  No,  no  indeed,"  I  murmured,  "  I  know  you  would  not  harm 
me,  unless — unless" 

"  Unless  I  were  mad,  Lilian  ;  is  that  what  you  would  say  ?" 
he  asked,  still  surveying  me  with  his  piercing,  reproachful  eyes  ; 
then  waiting  a  moment  for  a  reply,  which  never  came,  he  added, 
"  you  are  right  there  ;  but  I  am  not  mad — have  absolutely  no 
capacity  for  madness,  child.  Listen,  I  only  ask  from  you  one, cup 
of  that  generous  blood,  that  flowed  from  my  veins  in  the  begin- 
ning." 

"  This  is  a  strange  fancy  of  yours,  grandfather — a  horrible 
fancy.  Do  you  drink  blood  ?  Are  yon  a  vampire  ?"  I  tried 
to  smile,  but  shuddered  in  the  attempt.  "  I  must  not  seem 
afraid,"  I  thought,  "  for  if  this  be  mania,  such  evidence  would  in- 
crease it ;  and  yet  how  can  Fabius  seem  so  unconcerned,  if  he 
meditates  any  horrible  thing  ?  Perhaps  they  are  going  to  unite 
and  sacrifice  me." 

In  spite  of  my  better  resolution,  I  felt  myself  trembling  at  the 
thought  of  playing  the  part  of  an  unwilling  Iphigenia.  Fortu- 
nately, this  passed  unobserved. 

"  Hear  me  dispassionately,"  he  said  ;  "  then  decide  as  yon  will. 
I  ask  your  assistance  in  the  preparation  of  a  remedy,  on  which 
my  feeble  life  depends.  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  drawing 
from  my  own  veins,  or  those  of  Fabius,  the  required  amount  of 
fluid  to  complete  my  preparation  ;  but  since  my  long  illness,  my 
strength  has  failed.  His,  too,  declines,  and  unless  the  properties 
of  perfect  health  be  found  in  the  blood  thus  used,  it  is  of  little  or 


368  THE   HOUSEHCHJ)   OF   BOUVEEIE. 

no  avail.  To-day  I  threw  three  hundred  sovereigns,  the  last  of 
my  treasure,  in  the  crucibles.  All  this  will  be  wasted,  unless  I 
obtain  the  necessary  ingredient  wherewith  to  divide  the  smolder- 
ing mass  from  the  ethereal  spirit  that  makes  the  elexir." 

"  Why  not  use  the  blood  of  a  lamb,  or  of  a  goat,  grandfather ; 
or  beef's  blood,  as  I  have  heard  they  do  in  sugar  refineries? 
These  can  be  easily  procured,  and  human  nature  spared  the  horror 
of  such  an  experiment." 

"  Because  the  chemical  affinities  are  all  wanting  in  these  that 
success  depends  on  ;  but,  Lilian,  I  will  not  urge  you  further  ;  I 
will  not  ask  again,  even  to  save  my  own  life,  for  a  gill  of  the 
blood  I  gave  you." 

I  was  nerved  to  sudden  determination  by  these  words. 

"Be  sure  you  take  no  other,  grandfather,"  I  said,  hazarding  a 
feeble  jest  to  raise  my  own  courage.  "  Spare  my  De  Courcy 
blood,  I  implore  you  ;"  and  baring  my  arm,  I  stretched  it  forth, 
and  turned  away. 

A  small  porcelain  urn  was  brought  forward,  and  Fabius 
breathed  a  vein  with  a  dexterity  that  manifested  practice.  I  had 
just  began  to  feel  slightly  faint  and  giddy,  when  my  grandfather 
staunched  the  orifice,  and  bound  my  arm  himself  with  bandages, 
in  readiness  for  the  occasion  ;  first  touching  the  wounded  vein 
with  a  liquid  which  removed  soreness  from  the  arm,  and  prevented 
all  subsequent  inconvenience. 

"  Aye,  Lilian,  this  will  do,"  he  said  ;  "  this  young  and  ruddy 
blood  is  what  I  needed.  Do  you  know,  child,  that  the  time  is 
not  far  distant  when  he  who  can  afford  to  purchase  such  relays 
for  his  veins  weekly,  or  even  monthly,  may  put  off  death  indefi- 
nitely ?  The  surgeon  will  let  young  blood  into  the  old  man's 
veins  then,  as  easily  as  the  barber  trims  his  beard  now,  and  it  will 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          369 

be  a  part  of  the  received  hygeian  system  to  do  this,  indispensabl6 
even  to  the  toilet  of  every  sexagenarian." 

He  held  the  all  but  transparent  cup  between  his  eyes  and  the 
brilliant  lamps.  "  It  is  perfect,"  continued  he,  "every  globule 
round  as  a  drop  of  rain.  I  fear  I  have  not  spared  your  De  Courcy 
blood,  as  you  requested,  however.  I  think  I  discern  a  mixture  ; 
but  come,  you  shall  see  the  charm  work.  Medea  was  a  bungler 
compared  with  Erastus  Bouverie  !" 

He  led  me  to  the  crucible,  red  hot  over  its  charcoal  furnace, 
and  lifting  the  lid,  showed  me  the  dull,  yellow,  molten  mass  within. 

"  Now  look,  Lilian." 

He  took  from  the  marble  slab,  or  counter,  as  I  have  elsewhere 
called  it,  a  vial  of  white,  liquid,  which,  when  opened,  emitted  the 
odoriferous,  and,  to  me,  grateful  and  reviving  smell  of  almonds,  and 
bending  over  the  crucible,  poured  in  carefully  about  half  the  con- 
tents of  the  bottle,  quickly  replacing  the  close-fitting  glass  stopper. 

Instantly  the  seething  mass  stood  still,  a  few  large  bubbles 
rose,  flashed,  dispersed,  and  a  dull  violet  flame  seemed  to  flit  and 
flicker  over  the  surface. 

"  Now,  Lilian,  all  is  ready.  Look  attentively,  and  behold  the 
crisis  !"  His  face  was  rigid  as  steel,  as  he  dashed  in  the  blood. 

The  flame  died  out,  the  whole  mass  seemed  to  shudder  and  re- 
coil ;  then  separate  as  instantaneously  as  I  have  seen  the  curd  and 
whey  of  milk  divide  under  the  action  of  an  acid,  or,  to  use  a 
grandiose  comparison,  as  earth  and  sea  might  have  divided  in  the 
beginning  of  time.  A  mass  of  substance  was  precipitated  to  the 
bottom  of  the  crucible,  and  oh,  wondrous  vision !  in  the  clear, 
amber-colored  fluid  above,  myriads  of  tiny  serpents  of  flashing 
light  seemed  gliding,  quivering,  coiling  in  ring  after  ring,  and 
springing  in  spiral  movements  to  the  surface  ! 

16* 


870  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

"  It  is  the  vital  principle  at  work,"  he  said,  in  suppressed  tones, 
"electrifying  the  duller  agent.  The  combination  will  be  more 
than  usually  perfect.  The  blood  of  genius  works  well !  Fabius, 
extinguish  the  fires."  His  voice  was  low  and  husky. 

He  spoke  no  more  until  this  was  done;  then  steadily  and  slowly, 
and  with  every  nerve  strained  to  its  fullest  tension  in  the  anxiety 
of  the  moment — for  much  depended  on  the  accuracy  of  this  move- 
ment— he  poured  into  a  silver  bowl  the  wonderful  elixir,  prepara- 
tory to  sealing  it  in  crystal  vials. 

"And  now,  Lilian,  see  what  remains."  I  looked  ;  the  crucible 
was  two-thirds  filled  with  dull,  yellow  dust,  not  unlike  flowers  of 
rolphur,  gritty  to  the  touch,  and  unsightly  to  the  eye. 

"  Is  there  no  value  in  this  ?"  I  asked. 

"  No  more  than  in  ashes — nay,  scarce  as  much.  Three  hundred 
sovereigns  gone  to  make  one  pint  of  elixir — *a  costly  remedy;  but 
what  is  gold  to  life  ?"  He  gazed  at  me  with  his  flashing  eyes,  his 
unspeakably  brilliant  smile. 

"  Life  1  Oh,  there  is  magic  in  that  word  beyond  any  other 
that  the  cunning  brain  of  man  has  devised  as  a  vehicle  for  thought. 
It  includes  all  things — it  is  a  circle,  complete  in  itself.  It  is  a 
thing  to  worship,  to  preserve  beyond  hope,  or  fame,  or  honor,  or 
love,  even — the  only  direct  manifestation  of  Godhead  we  possess  I 
Life,  as  we  know  it  here — I  mean,  child,  in  connection  with  this 
fine  sensitive  frame,  with  all  its  wonderful  combinations  of  nerve, 
and  fibre,  and  capacity  of  sensation  and  resistance — life,  as  we 
know  it,  whether  in  its  fullness  or  its  poverty.  Better  than 
any  glory  the  filmy  future  promises.  Who  wants  immortality 
at  the  expense  of  such  a  present  ?  Who  desires,  save  your 
priest-deluded  enthusiast,  to  be  that  qualmy  thing,  an  angelic 
essence  ?  Then,  in  striking  contrast  to  all  this  power,  this  con- 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEEIE.  371 

Bciousness,  this  capability  of  enjoyment  or  of  suffering,  look  at 
death  I" 

As  if  he  saw  the  grim  spectre  of  his  fancy  before  him,  he  gazed 
intently  forward,  his  voice  dropped  into  a  hoarse  and  suppressed 
key,  and  he  shook  his  head  mournfully.  "  The  grave  !  How 
terrible  it  is — dark,  narrow,  cold — the  end  of  all  1  No  wonder 
that  Hamlet  shrank  from  suicide.  Nothing  beyond,  Lilian ; 
nothing  beyond.  Soul,  as  you  call  it,  sense,  genius,  power,  enjoy- 
ment, all  merged  in  that  last  necessity,  the  worm." 

"  Grandfather,"  I  said,  firmly,  "  death  has  no  horrors  compared 
to  a  belief  like  this.  Your  ideal  surpasses  God's  actual." 

"And  you,  Lilian,"  he  said,  turning  suddenly  upon  me,  with  his 
mocking  smile,  "what  is  it  you  believe,  after  all — such  is,  I  think, 
the  popular  word  for  delusion — a  word  of  very  deep  and  different 
significance,  however,  when  properly  employed." 

"  That  I  shall  live  forever  and  ever,  as  you  believe  that  you  are 
living  now.  It  seems  to  me  that  my  delusion  gives  me  an  advan- 
tage, grandfather,  over  yours."  A  bitter  sarcasm,  no  sooner  ut- 
tered than  regretted. 

"  I  do  believe  you  are  in  earnest,  child,"  he  said,  after  gazing 
at  me  attentively  for  a  moment,  without  noticing  my  significant 
speech  ;  and,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  began  to  walk  the  room 
slowly,  musingly;  uttering,  from  time  to  time,  the  words,  "Strange, 
strange,  if  true." 

"  Grandfather,"  I  said  gravely,  and  with  a  courage  that  seemed 
to  me  came  from  something  beyond  myself,  "this  life  that  you 
worship  so  cannot  be  long  with  you  ;  then  comes  the  great  begin- 
ning !  Oh.  grandfather,  make  friends  with  the  future,  so  soon  to 
be  your  eternal  present.  Make  your  peace  with  God,  so  soon  to 
be  your  visible  judge.  Try  and  believe  that  the  worm  is  not  the 


372  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOtTVEEIE. 

end  of  all,  and  that  one  sinful  human  soul  is  more  valuable  in  his 
sight  than  the  bright  sun  himself." 

"And  do  you  believe  this,  Lily?"  he  said,  his  Voltaire-like 
smile  quivering  a  moment  across  his  face,  then  giving  way  to  a 
deep  gloom  as  sudden  as  a  storm-cloud. 

"  Child,  child,  you  would  esteem  me  a  bad  man,  I  fear,  if  you 
knew  all,  and  yet  I  think  you  love  me.  How  is  this  ?" 

"  Not  half  as  much,  grandfather,  as  he  who  died  for  you,  for  me, 
for  all !" 

M  Do  not  preach  to  me,  child,"  he  said  ;  "  you  reverse  the  order 
of  things.  Suppose  you  carry  the  matter  out,  however,  before  we 
part, "he  added,  after  a  slight,  almost  embarrassed  hesitation,  "for 
it  is  late,  Lilian,  wearing  on  to  day.  It  is  customary  for  the  old 
to  bless  the  young ;  but,  to-night,  Lilian,  you  shall  bless  me,  if 
you  like,"  and  he  bowed  his  head  before  me,  speaking  carelessly, 
yet  not  without  emotion. 

I  scarcely  knew  whether  he  were  in  earnest  or  not ;  this 
mattered  little — I  was,  and  laying  my  hands  upon  his  lion-like 
head,  I  said  : 

"  In  the  name  of  Christ,  I  do  bless  you,  my  beloved  grandfather." 

He  started  from  his  drooping  attitude,  much  affected  by  my 
earnestness  ;  and,  taking  my  hands  in  his,  he  spoke  to  me  hi  these 
deep,  pathetic  accents  that  gave  his  voice  such  power  to  search 
the  soul. 

"  Child,  you  have  blessed  me,  truly,  with  blessing  never  spoken 
until  now.  Before  I  knew  you,  my  life  was  a  barren  waste,  a 
stagnant,  green-scummed  pool  1  New  and  rich  treasures  of  enjoy- 
ment has  your  simple  affection  laid  open  in  the  blasted  nature  of 
Erastus  Bouverie,  from  sources  unsuspected  before.  Receive  my 
thanks — I  have  no  more  to  give  you." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTTVERIE.  373 

He  towered  above  me  in  Ms  princely  stateliness,  he  kissed  my 
brow  with  the  calm  yet  tender  salute  of  paternity,  then  first  be- 
stowed ;  then  held  me  long  before  him,  while  he  gazed  fondly,  sor- 
rowfully, on  my  face. 

What  thoughts  swayed  him  then  ?  What  prophetic  knowledge 
of  his  doom  lowered  above  him — what  dark  and  unavailing  regret 
rose  from  the  depths  of  the  past  ?  All  these  seemed  to  me  de- 
picted on  his  pale  and  mobile  features,  as  he  stood  rapt  in 
dreams  above  me. 

"Go,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  and  forgive  me,  my  love,  that  for  this 
once,  and  from  a  great  necessity,  I  have  trespassed  on  the  laws 
that  ought  to  govern  you.  Come  no  more,  except  with  the  con- 
sent of  those  guardians  who  are  fittest  to  advise  you  now.  From 
me,  you  know,  Lily,  the  right,  the  glory  has  departed.  Call  me 
Ichabod !" 

The  acknowledgment  cost  him  dear,  although  he  tried  to  smile 
in  making  it.  I  read  it  in  his  face,  his  faltering  voice,  his  un- 
availing effort  at  gaiety.  It  quite  unnerved  me,  excited  as  I 
had  been  before.  I  clung  to  him,  weeping  childishly. 

Forgive  me,  Jasper,  if  for  that  moment,  I  felt  that  I  could  sur- 
render even  my  hopes  of  happiness  through  thee,  to  serve,  to  save 
him,  the  only  earthly  father  I  had  ever  known. 

Forgive  me,  my  Creator,  if  I  made  too  much  an  idol  of  this  thy 
stricken  yet  stately  creature,  fallen  like  the  son  of  the  morning, 
yet  oh,  a  monarch  still ! 

END  or  VOL.  L 


THE 

HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE; 

OR, 

----     THE   ELIXIR  OF  GOLD. 

BY 

MRS.     C.     A.     WARFIELD. 

AUTHOR    OF 

"A  DOUBLE  WEDDING;  OR,  HOW  SHE  WAS  WON." 

TWO    VOLUMES    COMPLETE    IN    ONE. 


"Par  over  all  there  hung  a  cloud  of  fear: 
A  tense  of  mystery  the  spirit  daunted, 
And  said  as  plain  as  whisper  in  Hie  ear. 
The  place  it  haunted." — THOMAS  HOOD. 

"I'll  keep  this  secret, 
As  warily  as  those  that  deal  inpnison 
Keep  poison  from  their  children." — WEBSTJU. 

" ' I  shuddered  at  the  sight,' 
Said  Margaret,  'for  I  knew  it  was  his  hand 
That  placed  it  there.'" — WORDSWORTH. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS; 

306   CHESTNUT    STREET. 
I 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHEBS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington,  D.  C. 


i.  C.  A.  WARFIELD'S  BEW  WORKS. 

Each  is  complete  in  one  volume,  cloth,  price  $1.75. 
THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE;  or,  the  Elixir  of  Gold. 
A  DOUBLE  WEDDING;  or,  HOW  SHE  WAS  WON. 

From  Marion  Harland,  author  of  "Alone,"  "Hidden  Path"  etc. 
"  As  to  Mrs.  Warfleld's  wonderful  book,  the  '  Household  of  Bouverie,'  I  have  read  it 
twice— the  second  time  more  carefully  than  the  first — and  I  use  the  term  '  wonderful,' 
because  it  best  expresses  the  feeling  uppermost  in  niy  mind,  both  while  reading  and 
thinking  it  over.  As  a  piece  of  imaginative  writing,  I  have  seen  nothing  to  equal  it 
since  the  days  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  and  I  doubt  whether  he  could  have  sustained  himself 
and  the  reader  through  a  book  of  half  the  size  of  the  '  Household  of  Bouverie.'  I  was 
literally  hurried  through  it  by  my  intense  sympathy,  my  devouring  curiosity — it  was 
more  than  interest.  I  read  everywhere — between  the  courses  of  the  hotel-table,  on 
the  boat,  in  the  cars — until  I  had  swallowed  the  last  line.  This  is  no  common  occur- 
rence with  a  veteran  romance  reader  like  myself." 

From  Gail  Hamilton,  author  of  "Gala  Days,"  etc. 

" '  The  Household  of  Bouverie '  is  one  of  those  nuisances  of  books  that  pluck  out 
all  your  teeth,  and  then  dare  you  to  bite  them.  Your  interest  is  awakened  in  the  first 
chapter,  and  you  are  whirled  through  in  a  lightning-express  train  that  leaves  you  no 
opportunity  to  look  at  the  little  details  of  wood,  and  lawn,  and  river.  You  notice  two 
or  three  little  peculiarities  of  style — one  or  two  'bits'  of  painting — and  then  you  pull 
on  your  seven-leagued  boots,  and  away  you  go." 

From  John  G.  Saxe,  the  Poet. 

" '  The  Household  of  Bouverie  '  is  a  strange  romance,  and  will  bother  the  critics  not 
a  little.  The  interest  of  the  book  is  undeniable,  and  is  wonderfully  sustained  to  the 
end  of  the  story.  I  think  it  exhibits  far  more  power  than  any  lady-novel  of  recent 
date,  and  it  certainly  has  the  rare  merit  of  entire  originality." 

Pram  Cfeorge  Ripley's  Review  of  "The  Household  of  Bouverie,"  in  Harper's  Magazine. 
"'The  Household  of  Bouverie '  betrays  everywhere  a  daring  boldness  of  conception, 
singular  fertility  of  illustration,  and  a  combined  beauty  and  vigor  of  expression,  which 
it  would  be  difficult  to  match  in  any  recent  works  of  fiction.  In  these  days,  when  the 
most  milk-and-watery  platitudes  are  so  often  welcomed  as  sibylline  inspirations,  it  is 
somewhat  refreshing  to  meet  with  a  female  novel-writer  who  displays  the  unmistakable 
firo  :f  genius,  however  terrific  its  brightness." 


J&&~  Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.  Copies  of  either  one,  or  both 
of  the  above  books,  will  be  sent  at  once  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  postage  pre-paid,  on 
remitting  their  price  in  a  letter  to  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTXIT  STUF.ET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


BOOK  SIXTH. 

"  I'll  dwell  alone,  alone, 

And  uone  shall  touch  me — none  shall  look  oa  me; 
Pll  dwell  aloft — oh,  I  shall  pass  my  time 
In  solitude  apart — a  man  forbidden !" 

BARRY  CORNWALL. 


"  Lend  me  thine  hand, 
And  pluck  my  magic  garments  from  mi 
Lie  there  mine  art." 

TEMPEST. 


"  T  wEl  obey  the  officer. 

Yet  but  a  word — canst  tliou  endure  it,  deaiest : " 

FAZIO, 


"  Madam,  he  has  escaped." 

MIBANDOL 


•Full  many  a  miserable  year  has  past, 
She  knows  him  as  one  dead  or  worse  than  dead." 

BEBTKAM. 


BOOK     SIXTH. 

CHAPTER  I. 

ON  a  memorable  evening,  in  the  last  of  September,  a  fortnight 
after  my  clandestine  visit  to  my  grandfather's  chambers — the 
comet,  then  our  wondrous  visitor  from  space,  was  first  unveiled 
to  my  gaze,  in  its  full  splendor  and  sublimity. 

I  use  the  term  unveiled  advisedly.  For  ten  days  before  that 
night  the  face  of  the  heavens  had  been  covered  with  clouds,  and 
behind  these  the  small  nebulous  plume,  so  faintly  traced  on  the 
sky  before  they  gathered  over  it,  as  to  be  scarcely  distinguish- 
able from  a  floating  mist,  had  gained  in  size  and  grandeur  and 
brilliancy,  until  at  the  first  withdrawal  of  the  curtains  it  burst 
upon  us,  in  plenitude  of  power  and  beauty,  the  most  splendid 
vision  my  eyes  had  ever  witnessed. 

The  impression  it  made  on  my  mind  can  never  be  effaced,  or 
surpassed  even  by  a  successor  of  superior  size  and  brilliancy,  if 
such  be  possible.  It  seemed  a  direct  and  manifest  herald  to  the 
world  from  the  throne  of  the  most  High — a  spark,  perhaps,  from 
the  glorious  crown  itself,  to  rouse  the  drooping  energies  of  such 
as  doubted,  and  bring  more  thrillingly  close  to  the  Creator  those 
who  believed. 

A  great  silence,  a  sort  of  trance-like  ecstasy  fell  on  me  in  the 
presence  of  this  glorious  stranger,  and  enjoyment  uninterrupted 
by  thought  or  memory — a  new  and  exquisite  sensation  that  with 
me  can  never  be  repeated.  Nor  was  it,  until  the  comet  wheeled 


6  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

down  behind  the  western  horizon,  or  rather  faded  ghostlike  beneath 
its  verge,  that  I  turned  from  the  contemplation  of  the  heavens 
to  seek  my  pillow. 

The  household  belowstairs  had  long  been  rapt  in  slumber 
when  I  lay  down,  not  to  sleep,  for  I  was  too  much  excited  for 
this  ;  but  to  lie  with  closed  eyes  and  suspended  life  in  that  quiet, 
rigid  attitude  which  might,  by  a  careless  observer,  be  mistaken 
for  one  of  repose. 

A  superficial  slumber  must  at  last,  however,  have  supervened 
on  that  intense  nervous  condition  ;  for  I  thought  that  my  grand- 
father was  bending  over  my  bed,  and  that  Fabius  stood  near  him, 
holding  his  dark  lantern. 

I  started  from  my  pillow,  roused  by  the  sound  of  parting  foot- 
steps, a  faint  light  pervaded  the  room,  which  came  from  the  taper 
in  my  grandmother's  chamber.  I  had  a  perfect  recollection  of 
closing  the  door  of  communication  between  our  apartments, 
when  I  laid  down,  to  exclude  this  light;  it  now  stood  open. 

"  She  has  been  in  my  room,"  I  thought ;  "  the  parting  steps 
were  hers.  I  have  been  moaning  in  my  sleep  again,  I  suppose; 
or,  perhaps,  she  is  lonely,  and  wants  to  hear  me  breathing  near 
her.  Something  unusual  has  occurred  ;  what  can  it  be  ?  Or,  was 
this  a  vision  of  sudden  death  ?"  I  continued  ;  "  Is  my  grandfather 
stricken  in  his  solitude — and  has  his  spirit  come  to  warn  me  ?" 

The  thought  brought  the  cold  dew  to  my  forehead,  and  I  sat 
in  my  bed  with  my  fingers  clasped  over  my  face.  In  another 
moment  my  head  was  raised,  and  my  hands  were  extended  in 
terror.  I  was  startled  by  the  clang  of  a  door  sharply  shut,  and 
the  grating  noise  of  a  key  turned  suddenly  in  a  lock — that  of  the 
secret  stairway  I  well  knew,  from  the  direction  of  the  sound.  J 
sprang  to  my  feet,  and  rushed  into  the  adjoining  room. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEETB.  7 

The  taper  was  burning  near  the  hearth,  on  which  a  few  Inlands 
still  smoldered.  The  room  was  unoccupied,  save  by  the  sleeper 
in  the  bed,  whose  deep  stertorous  breathing  filled  th:  silence. 
There  was  something  alarming  to  me  in  the  anusual  sound.  I  was 
by  her  side  in  an  instant,  vainly  essaying  to  rouse  her,  the  veins 
in  her  brow  were  swollen,  and  her  lips  and  neck  were  hot — while 
her  clenched  hands  evidenced  some  internal  struggle. 

I  then,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  perceived  the  peculiar  smell 
of  chloroform  (familiar  to  me  since  then)  and  I  knew  that  some 
powerful  agent  had  been  employed  to  produce  the  effects  I  wit- 
nessed. I  should  have  flown  to  the  wing  in  quest  of  Dr.  Qnintil 
in  another  moment,  had  she  not  commenced  to  recover  slowly,  as 
from  a  deep  sleep.  My  voice  seemed  to  have  reached  her  ear, 
for,  spreading  out  her  hands,  like  one  groping  in  darkness,  she 
said — 

"  You  are  here,  Lilian,  I  think." 

"  Yes,  grandmother,  by  your  side — and  you  are  better  !" 

"  What  is  this,  Lilian  ?  Am  I  blind  again  ;  where  is  Erastus  T 
I  saw  him  bending  over  me  with  his  terrible  battery,  I  believe 
before  the  darkness  fell  on  me.  How  has  he  dared  to  enter  my 
chamber  ?  Who  admitted  him  ?  oh,  surely  !  not  you — not  you, 
my  Lilian  ?" 

"  Grandmother,  you  must  not  even  dream  of  wronging  me 
thus.  I  am  quite  incapable  ;"  sobs  choked  my  utterance. 

"  I  know  it,  darling.  I  speak  wild  words,  but  I  feel  so 
strangely  here,"  and  she  pressed  her  hand  upon  her  brow.  "  Per- 
haps this  is  death,  Lilian  ;  or  perhaps  God  is  afflicting  me  with 
madness  at  last,  and  I  have  only  imagined  that  he  was  near  me  ; 
but  even  these  are  better  to  meet  than  blindness  again." 

"  Grandmother,  you  have  been  shamefully  drugged  and  robbed. 


8  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEREE. 

I  fear."  And  as  I  spoke,  I  glanced  at  the  open  secretary  drawer, 
in  the  lock  of  which  the  keys  were  still  swinging.  "  Look  at 
those  keys  in  motion  yet ;  the  matter  is  very  recent." 

"  Examine  the  drawer,  Lilian  (it  was  that  in  which  her  jewels 
were  kept),  and  ascertain  my  loss." 

I  obeyed  her,  and  as  I  remained  silent,  she  asked  me  again  a 
little  impatiently  : 

"  Lilian,  what  has  my  loss  been  ?" 

I  replied  in  low  and  sorrowful  tones,  at  once  that  revealed  to 
her  my  own  convictions,  and  awoke  or  confirmed  her  own. 
"  Grandmother,  your  diamonds  are  gone.  All  else  is  untouched." 

She  made  no  remark  ;  she  did  not  even  utter  an  exclamation, 
but  lay  quietly  for  some  moments,  then  calling  me  to  come  to 
her,  she  said : 

"  You  will  find  all  the  outer  doors  locked  I  think,  Lilian,  one 
key  of  the  secret  stairs  is  under  my  pillow,  the  other  carefully 
put  away  in  my  bureau — these  are  out  of  the  question — how  this 
entrance  was  effected  is  a  mystery  to  me." 

"  I  think  I  can  afford  you  a  clue,"  I  said,  after  some  hesitation, 
and  I  told  her  of  the  wax  I  had  removed  from  the  wards  of  the 
duplicate  key,  which  Fabius  had  restored  to  me. 

She  listened  with  grave  surprise. 

"  I  regard  this  simply  as  a  business  matter,"  she  said.  "  I 
attach  no  sentiment  to  it,  none  at  all ;  do  not  feel  for  me  on  that 
account,  no  act  of  his  could  astonish  me.  The  lock  was  a  curious 
one,  made  with  a  view  to  my  security,  not  his,  since  egress  was 
always  afforded  him  through  the  basement  floor— had  he  been 
imprudent  enough  to  take  advantage  of  the  privilege,  or  base 
enough  to  break  his  solemn  oath.  Mr.  Bouverie  is  a  voluntary 
captive  in  this  house." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEEIE.  fl 

There  was  something  so  dry,  so  cold  in  her  accent,  that  it 
struck  to  my  heart.  I  remained  silent,  but  my  tears  flowed 
abundantly. 

"  Do  not  give  way  to  such  emotion,  Lilian  ;  it  is  useless.  We 
will  allude  no  more,  if  you  please,  to  the  events  of  this  night.  We 
will  try  to  forget  them,  darling.  Now  retire." 

I  hesitated.  She  waved  her  hand,  and  I  obeyed  her.  The 
door  stood  open  between  us,  bnt  I  heard  no  further  sound  ; 
yet  I  think  she  framed  her  resolution  that  night  to  see  him  no 
more  ! 

How  strange  it  is,  that  entire  separation  of  the  outer  and  inner 
life,  so  sternly  forced  upon  us  in  all  times  of  sorrow  and  suffering  ! 

The  external  management  of  matters  was  quite  unchanged  by 
the  internal  revolution  that  had  taken  place  in  the  bosoms  of 
more  than  one  member  of  the  household  of  Bouverie. 

I  remember  that  on  the  morning  after  the  occurrence  that 
changed  the  whole  current  of  affairs  with  us,  the  different  methods 
of  making  coffee  were  discussed  with  great  animation  by  Dr.  Quin- 
tilian  and  my  grandmother,  and  a  final  preference  given  to  the  old 
Virginia  plan. 

I  could  not  enter  into  this.  I  was  silent,  heart-struck.  Their 
calmness  was  incomprehensible  to  me. 

In  the  meantime  Dr.  Quintil  changed  the  lock  of  the  secret 
stairway  with  his  own  hands,  having  in  reserve  another,  different 
from  the  first,  yet  equally  curious  and  complicated.  Interior 
bolts  were  also  added  to  every  door  in  the  chamber.  His  face 
was  a  shade  paler,  a  thought  sterner  than  usual,  and  this  was  all 
that  betrayed  any  connection  of  ideas  on  his  part,  between  the 
mechanical  act  he  was  performing  and  the  crime  that  pre- 
faced it. 

1* 


10  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

While  he  was  working,  I  saw  Bianca,  who  sat  at  her  sewing  in 
my  grandmother's  room,  steal  one  frightened,  furtive  glance 
toward  him — one,  and  one  only — unobserved  by  any  one  else, 
but  which  revealed  plainly  to  me  her  knowledge  of  the  whole 
transaction. 

As  to  Fabius,  his  usual  imperturbability  sustained  him  well — he 
still  went  and  came  like  a  shadow — wearing  always  the  same  im- 
passive face,  intent,  as  usual,  on  the  performance  of  his  duties, 
and  providing,  according  to  custom,  the  choicest  dainties  the 
house  afforded  for  his  master's  table. 

He  did  not  seem  to  remark  the  cessation  of  intercourse  between 
the  lower  and  upper  floors  of  Bouverie.  Yet  once  or  twice  each 
day,  I  caught  his  eye  fixed  earnestly  upon  me,  with  an  expression 
of  inquiry  and  anxiety  not  to  be  mistaken,  even  in  its  glassy  in- 
expressiveness,  and  blue  vacuity. 

There  was  a  stern  sorrow  in  my  grandmother's  face,  in  spite  of 
her  declared  indifference,  and  an  avoidance  of  all  interchange 
of  glances  with  me,  that  made  me  afraid  to  question  her  de- 
cision. 

That  she  had  arrived  at  one,  I,  who  knew  her  moods  so  well, 
could  scarcely  doubt.  What  this  was  I  could  only  blindly  con- 
jecture. Was  it  only  for  a  given  space  that  she  would  refrain 
from  his  presence — just  to  give  him  time  for  consideration  and 
repentance,  which  bitterly  as  he  disavowed  its  possibility  in  his 
nature,  was,  as  I  believed,  already  at  work  in  his  heart ;  or  had 
she  assumed  the  sternest  prerogative  of  justice  known  to  human 
nature  in  her  absolute  despotism,  and  sentenced  him  to  solitude 
forever  I 

But  no,  this  should  not  be.  Every  voice  of  my  soul  cried  out 
against  it.  For  a  time  I  would  forbear,  and  obey.  It  was  right, 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  11 

it  was  just,  he  should  suffer  for  his  great  wrong-doing  ;  it  was 
best  for  him.  Weeks,  months  even  might  pass,  however  my 
heart  might  secretly  bleed,  before  my  lips  should  unclose  to  plead 
for  his  pardon  ;  but  if  refused  then,  I  would  openly  rebel. 

I  would  go  to  him  in  the  face  of  authority,  and  in  spite  of 
bolts  and  bars,  though  Jasper's  self  opposed  it,  I  would  go.  He 
should  not  live  and  die  alone,  while  blood  of  his  flowed  in  my 
veins.  I  would  give  up  all,  every  one,  to  protect  and  comfort 
him.  I  would  do  this  as  surely  as  Christ  had  died  for  me  I 

Think  not  I  was  insensible  to  the  magnitude,  to  the  dishonor- 
able nature  of  his  crime,  greatly  as  it  was  aggravated  by  ingrati- 
tude. I  am  almost  afraid  to  confess,  that  even  after  my  ears 
were  opened  to  the  details  of  his  former  transgressions,  this  act 
remained  the  crowning  shame  of  his  life  in  my  estimation.  Hor- 
rors there  were,  far  greater  injustice,  more  outrageous,  but  nothing 
before  descending  to  the  same  type  of  baseness.  I  could  not,  I 
did  not  wish,  to  extenuate  his  error.  It  stood  out  in  revolting 
distinctness  before  me.  But  I  had  pitied  and  loved  him  too  well 
to  forsake  him  now. 

The  affection  I  bore  him  could  not  be  shaken  by  sin  and  shame 
— it  had  become  one  of  the  pillars  of  the  temple. 

Do  not  lay  down  my  book — oh  !  dispassionate  reader — in  deep 
disgust  at  unreasonable  sentiments  like  these.  Give  vent  to  your 
impatience,  and  then  proceed.  I  think  I  hear  you  say  : 

"  I  am  weary  of  this  morbid  sacrifice  of  the  noble  many  to  the 
wicked  one.  Why  should  a  high-souled  woman,  a  pure  and  ear- 
nest man,  a  youth  gifted  by  nature,  warped  by  human  cruelty 
alone,  a  girl,  gay,  ambitious,  attractive  perhaps,  and  full  of  warm 
affections,  be  immured  and  tortured,  for  the  sake  of  a  reckless  vision 

ary,  who  had  evidently  forfeited  his  life  to  the  laws  of  his  countr/ 

17 


12  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

"  Why  should  gold,  that  might  have  sustained  all  three  in  modest 
plenty,  even  luxury,  be  poured  into  the  crucibles  of  a  dreamer, 
that  one  useless  life  might  be  amused  or  fed  1  Is  there  any  jus- 
tice in  this,  any  fitness,  any  propriety  !  Why  should  one  being  be 
Buffered  to  pursue  and  trample  another  into  dust,  through  a 
whole  life,  if  not  to  revive  the  old  belief  of  an  evil  genius,  and  to 
make  us  doubt  the  mercy,  nay  the  very  existence,  of  a  just  God  ! 

Why  should  " 

Pause  here,  dear  reader,  you  are  becoming  excited  ;  or,  if  you 
will  continue,  "  Strike,  but  hear  me  1" 

I  should  be  sorry  to  part  with  you  before  the  conclusion  of  my 
simple  narrative,  so  bear  with  me,  I  pray  you,  as  patiently  as  you 
may,  and  think,  oh,  think,  of  fhe  motive  1 

In  the  great  hand  of  the  Father,  when  the  balance  of  good  and 
evil  is  finally  adjusted,  and  all  finite  reasoning  is  laid  at  rest  forever, 
which  think  you  will  weigh  down  the  scale,  motives  or  deeds  ? 
Our  best  actions  fail  sometimes  ;  they  disappear,  they  leave 
no  trace,  or  do  injury  instead  of  the  good  intended ;  but  the 
motive  springs  immortal,  as  soul  from  body,  to  dwell  with  God 
forever. 

What  a  noble,  tender  compassion  animated  that  mournful 
•household  of  Bouverie  !  How  great,  how  delicate,  how  forbear- 
ing, how  Christlike  was  their  pitying  generosity  ;  and  if  it  erred 
on  the  merciful  side,  and  carrying  indulgence  and  sorrowful  re- 
spect too  far,  sacrificed  joy,  hope,  and  glory  to  what  might  be 
termed  a  mere  chimera,  what  then  ? 

Were  those  enthusiasts  of  virtue  less  virtuous  because  they 
exceeded  the  common  opinion  of  utilitarianism  ;  or  less  worthy 
of  the  martyr's  crown,  than  those  who  have  relinquished  all  for 
country,  creed,  or  philosophy  ? 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  13 

Was  this  sacrifice  any  less  acceptable  to  the  Reader  of  all 
hearts,  than  if  it  had  been  made  for  a  great  good,  or  distin- 
guished sufferer  ? 

I  do  not  pretend  to  answer  these  questions  of  my  own  asking, 
nor  to  claim  for  myself  any  portion  of  the  merit,  if  such  there 
were,  thus  suggested. 

Sympathy  and  impulse  guided  me  alone.  Whatever  good  I 
did  was  from  affection,  not  principle.  Yet  such  as  it  was,  and 
from  whatever  motive  it  arose,  it  has  reacted  on  my  life,  and 
been  lavishly  returned  to  me,  in  the  strength,  the  tenderness,  and 
the  pity  thus  roused,  in  a  heart  naturally  wanting  perhaps  in 
these  attributes  of  grace. 


14  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  month  was  nearly  gone — the  month,  it  might  be  called,  of 
probation — which  I  had  placed  as  the  limit  of  my  silence,  on  a 
subject  that  moved  me  deeply,  and  those  golden  days  were  come 
when  summer,  turning  on  her  reluctant  path,  like  Ruth  departing 
from  the  field  of  Boaz,  looks  back,  and  thrills  the  heart  of 
Autumn  with  her  beauty. 

There  is  a  bewildering  charm  in  that  hazy,  Indian  summer  time 
to  me,  which  takes  me  captive,  soul  and  sense,  and  fills  me  with  a 
sweet  and  dreamy  enjoyment,  not  unmixed  with  melancholy. 

At  no  other  season,  in  this  favored  medium  clime  of  ours,  do 
flowers  wear  so  full  and  perfect  a  loveliness,  and  ever-blooming 
roses,  above  all,  develop  then,  with  a  slow  perfection  that  we 
seek  in  vain,  even  in  the  balmy  days  of  June. 

"We  shall  not  have  you  long,"  I  thought,  as  I  filled  my 
basket  with  tea  roses,  from  the  flower-beds  in  front  of  the  house, 
on  one  of  those  gorgeous  October  mornings  of  golden  beauty, 
Such  as  Claude  Lorraine  never  painted,  nor  imagined,  peculiar  as 
they  are  to  this  peculiar  land. 

"  Poor  Heliotrope  !  we  have  no  hot-house  for  you,  and  the 
first  frost  will  blight  your  abundant  bloom,  and  stifle  your  sweet 
odors  forever  ;  but  spring  will  bring  back  our  roses.  I  think  I  love 
you  more,  sweet  violet  flower,  for  this  rare  susceptibility  of  yours, 
and  he  with  whom  your  '  nerve-thrilling  perfume/  as  he  called  it, 
is  almost  a  "passion,  shall  have  his  fill  of  it  to-day,  for  the  last 
time  perhaps,  and  know,  through  you,  that  he  is  forgiven,  re- 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  15 

membered  by  cne  at  least  of  this  sad,  strange  household  of 
Bouverie." 

Even  as  I  murmured  words  like  these,  a  report  burst  on  my  ear 
and  filled  the  calm,  hazy  atmosphere,  loud,  distinct,  sonorous  as 
that  of  a  cannou. 

Again  and  again  did  that  startling  explosion  jar  and  confound 
my  senses.  I  dropped  my  flowers.  I  looked  up  to  see  from  the 
safe  distance  at  which  I  stood  from  the  mansion,  the  glass  dome, 
that  capped  the  central  hall,  hurled  violently  from  its  position, 
accompanied  by  clouds  of  vapor,  and  shivered  into  a  thousand 
fragments  fall  headlong  to  the  earth. 

At  the  same  moment,  a  portion  of  the  front  wall  of  the  upper  cir- 
cular hall  tumbled  forward  in  a  confused  mass  of  stone  and  mortar, 
leaving  a  chasm  open  to  my  eye,  as  I  still  stood  rooted  to  the  spot, 
through  which  most  of  the  interior  might  be  distinctly  discerned. 

In  that  rapid  glance  of  pain  and  terror,  I  saw  my  grandfather's 
form,  erect  and  pale,  leaning  against  the  opposite  wall  of  the 
apartment,  with  closed  eyes  and  blood-bedabbled  hair. 

"  He  is  dead,"  I  cried,  "  dead  by  his  own  hand,  dead  in  de- 
spair !"  and  shrieking  wildly,  I  fled  to  the  house,  now  ringing  with 
the  awful  cry  of  fire.  I  rushed  through  the  open  door  of  the 
hall  into  my  grandmother's  chamber.  . 

It  was  deserted  ;  the  door  of  the  secret  door  stood  open.  I 
turned  to  ascend  it,  and  met  Dr.  Quintil,  and  Jasper,  bearing  the 
insensible  form  of  my  grandfather  between  them,  followed  by  his 
pallid  wife. 

They  passed,  as  by  previous  consent,  through  the  large  cham- 
ber, into  mine,  and  laid  him  on  my  bed.  Even  in  that  moment  of 
consternation,  the  desire  to  conceal,  to  save  him  from  danger,  waa 
the  first  consideration. 


16  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

My  grandmother  stood  mutely  wringing  her  hands.     Dr.  Quin- 
til  turned  to  me. 

"  Everything  depends  on  yon,  Lilian,"  he  said  ;  "  I  must  go  to 
the  roof  with  Jasper,  and  try  to  extinguish  this  fire  ;  keep  the 
door  fast.     Let  no  one  enter,  not  even  Bianca." 
And  so  speaking,  he  darted  away. 
"  Stay— is  he  dead  ?"  I  cried. 
"  Not  dead,  only  stunned  ;  he  will  revive." 
"  Can  nothing  be  done  ?"  I  inquired,  murmuring  wildly  after 
hun  ;  "  you  have  given  us  no  directions  I" 

•     "  Go  back  to  your  post,  and  be  patient.     Let  nature  take  her 
course,"  he  said  a  little  sternly. 

And  he  flew,  followed  by  Jasper,  up  the  stairs  that  led  to  the 
sealed  chamber,  as  if  his  own  words  had  lent  him  wings. 

"  How  heartless  his  conduct  is  !"  I  murmured,  as  I  took  my 
stand  by  the  bed,  on  which  reposed  the  still  insensible  cause  of 
all  this  disturbance.  "  What  matters  the  safety  of  the  house, 
compared  to  his  ?  He  will  die  for  want  of  attendance  !  Ah,  me ! 
can  nothing  be  done  ?"  And  I  busied  myself  in  chafing  his  cold 
brow  and  hands  with  the  cologne-water  that  stood  on  my  toilet- 
table — the  only  remedy  at. hand. 

"  I  have  his  medicine  here,  Lilian  ;  I  secured  it  as  I  passed  the 
slab  on  which  he  keeps  it — and  when  he  is  able  to  swallow,  I 
shall  administer  it.  It  may  have  efficacy  for  him,  and  a  crisis 
approaches." 

My  grandmother  spoke  with  a  strange  calmness,  that  irritated 
instead  of  soothing  me,  excited  as  I  already  was. 

"  But  suppose  he  never  revives,"  I  rejoined.  "  What  then, 
grandmother  ?  His  pulse  is  a  mere  thread — and  he  looks  like  a 
corpse  even  now  ;  something  must  be  done." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  17 

"  We  have  the  physician's  directions,  Lilian,  to  trust  to  nature. 
The  fulfillment  of  these  is  easy,  and  satisfies  conscience  at  least — 
after  all,  he  is  in  the  hands  of  God  !" 

There  was  a  sad  irony  in  her  tones  that  jarred  on  every  nerve 
of  my  brain. 

"  She  is  willing  he  should  die,"  I  thought  ;  "  how  horrible  I 
She  would  do  more  than  '  satisfy  conscience,'  to  save  her  tortoise- 
shell  cat !  Oh,  heavens  !  has  it  come  to  this  ?  And  he  her 
husband  !  But  I  will  wrestle  for  him  with  death  itself,"  and 
throwing  myself  on  my  knees  by  his  bed.  I  prayed  as  I  never 
prayed  before  ! 

I  prayed  with  my  whole  mental  and  bodily  energy,  with  wojds 
of  tire,  with  streaming  eyes,  with  trembling  limbs,  with  dew- 
covered  face,  and  inward  sacrifice  !  I  rose  from  my  knees  both 
strengthened  and  exhausted. 

By  this  time  the  house  was  filled  with  people,  brought  together 
by  various  motives,  curiosity;  perhaps,  being  the  predominant 
one. 

Our  nearest  neighbors  consisted  of  a  class  of  poor  tenantry, 
who  cultivated  the  vast  estate  of  the  "  Dugannes,"  long  absent 
in  Europe.  The  gardener,  Smith,  and  his  wife,  had,  under  the 
pretence  of  rendering  us  assistance,  brought  with  them  a  host  of 
those  busy  idlers,  for  such  they  proved  themselves  on  this  occasion. 

The  fire  was  got  under  before  they  arrived,  and  they  might 
with  propriety  have  withdrawn  again,  had  not  the  spirit  of  pro- 
crastination and  investigation  possessed  them.  The  faculty  of 
inquiring  into  the  business  of  others,  does,  indeed,  seem  to  be  a 
sixth  sense  with  the  vulgar,  who  revive  on  all  possible  occasions, 
the  old  inquisitorial  torture  of  the  question,  with  exquisite  im- 
provements suggested  by  local  circumstances. 


18  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

The  pyramid  of  Cheops  was  not  more  an  object  of  curiosity  to 
a  thorough-going  traveller,  than  was  this  mysterious  mansion  to 
the  crowd  of  long-exiled  intruders  who  filled  it  now,  and  who  per- 
sisted in  the  right  of  search — a  self-constituted  police,  leaving  no 
cranny  unexamined — no  loop  without  a  doubt  dangling  there- 
from, in  token  of  their  sagacity. 

We  heard  the  tramp  of  busy  feet  passing  and  repassing — the 
murmur  of  suggestive  voices  ;  but  every  effort  to  enter  my 
chamber  (our  only  remaining  fortress  now)  was  successfully 
repelled. 

"  You  cannot  enter,  Mrs.  Bouverie  desires  to  be  alone,"  was 
the  only  answer  I  vouchsafed  to  their  urgent  and  oft-repeated 
applications  for  admission — and  they  were  forced  to  retire  dis- 
contented, and  half-satisfied  of  what  they  burned  to  know. 

Yet  enough  was  evidenced  in  these  upper  rooms,  supposed  to  be 
long  abandoned  (recently  inhabited,  it  was  apparent,  to  the  least 
observing),  to  confirm  those  floating  suspicions  that  had  long 
wanted  concentration  only,  and  which  the  dignity  and  reticence 
of  my  grandmother's  character  had  hitherto  held  at  bay. 

Every  precaution,  suggested  by  care  and  interest,  became  now  a 
fatal  witness  against  us — and  when  the  dead  body  of  poor  old 
Fabius  was  found,  and  dragged  out  by  his  half-distracted  wife 
from  beneath  the  ruins  of  the  chemical  apparatus,  and  afterward 
triumphantly  borne  forth  and  exhibited  by  the  officious  Smith,  to 
the  excited  crowd,  as  an  evidence  of  some  diabolical  instrument- 
ality at  work,  and  the  presence  of  an  unseen,  or  concealed  party, 
illegally  protected  in  the  house  of  Bouverie,  curiosity  and  conjec- 
ture threatene*d  to  carry  everything  before  them. 

It  was  at  the  moment  that  Smith  was  addressing  the  crowd, 
Mark  Antony-like,  pointing  out  the  ghastly  wound  on  the  old 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OP  BOTTVEBIE.  19 

man's  head  that  had  killed  him — inflicted,  probably,  by  a  gas-pipe 
that  had  burst  beside  him,  one  of  the  scattered  fragments  of  which 
he  brandished  above  his  head — and  that  Bianca  was  unconsciously 
lending  effect  to  the  scene,  by  hanging,  in  wailing  agony,  over  the 
body  of  Fabius  ;  that  Dr.  Quintil,  having  finished  his  work  on  the 
house-top,  stepped  quietly  in  front  of  Smith,  and  stood  in  their 
midst,  with  that  cool  and  commanding  air  he  knew  so  well  how  to 
substitute,  at  times,  for  his  usually  unostentatious  demeanor. 

The  expression  of  his  eye  seemed  to  act  like  a  charm  on  Bianca ; 
her  outcries  subsided  into  low,  whimpering  sighs,  and  she  sat  down 
quietly  in  a  corner,  quite  out  of  sight ;  while  Dr.  Quintil,  still 
standing  in  front  of  the  "  British  lion,"  on  the  broad  steps  of  en- 
trance, signified,  by  an  imperative  wave  of  the  hand,  and  the  usual 
preparatory  clearing  of  the  throat,  common  to  all  unexperienced 
orators,  that  he  desired  to  address  the  audience. 

He  was  greatly  respected  among  the  neighbors  for  his  manli- 
ness, and  humanity,  and  spotless  integrity  of  character  ;  and  had 
been  frequently  solicited  (in  vain)  to  fill  their  magisterial  chair. 

When  he  commenced  to  speak  to  them,  therefore,  in  low  but 
distinct  tones,  and  with  the  firm  manner  peculiar  to  him  when 
aroused  to  action,  they  yielded  him  immediate  and  respectful  at- 
tention. 

He  told  them  that  he  deplored  more  than  any  one  could  de- 
plore it,  excepting  the  afflicted  wife  of  the  deceased,  the  fatal 
accident  that  a  misguided  passion  for  science  had  occasioned  to 
the  poor,  faithful  old  man,  whose  body  they  had  just  beheld. 

At  this  moment,  Jasper  and  Pat  McCormick  were  seen  quietly 
lifting  up  the  body  of  Fabius,  assisted  by  Bianca  ;  and,  in  another, 
they  had  disappeared  within  the  mansion  with  their  burden,  not- 
withstanding the  deprecating  growl  of  the  lion. 


20  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEEIE. 

Meantime,  the  American  eagle  continued  to  expand  his  wings 
before  his  hereditary  foe. 

"  In  all  times,  my  friends,"  he  said,  "  the  devotees  of  science 
have  loved  to  carry  on  their  experiments  in  solitude  or  retirement. 
For  years,  the  upper  story  of  the  house  of  Bouverie  has  been  set 
apart  for  purposes  like  these.  Acids  and  gases  have  been  em- 
ployed in  these  labors,  requiring  the  utmost  care  and  precaution 
on  the  part  of  those  who  handled  them  ;  and,  so  far,  employed 
without  injury  or  inconvenience  to  any  one.  Those  only  who  love 
chemistry  for  its  own  sake,  can  appreciate  the  motive  of  these  ex- 
periments ;  it  is  needless  to  explain  them  now.  Indeed,  at  a  time 
like  this,  and  filled,  as  I  am,  with  horror  and  regret  for  the  occur- 
rence of  this  morning,  I  do  not  feel  able  or  willing  to  enter  into 
unimportant  details,  however  interesting  you  might  find  them,  for 
the  love  of  knowledge  is  common,  I  well  know,  to  all  intelligent 
minds. 

"  I  desire  that  an  inquest  be  held  over  the  body  of  Fabius, 
should  you  deem  this  necessary  after  the  haste  you  have  manifested 
in  removing  it  from  the  place  in  which  the  investigation  should 
properly  have  been  conducted.  I  doubt  not  that  he  met  his 
death  from  the  exploded  gas-pipe,  a  fragment  of  which  " — turning, 
and  taking  it  from  Smith's  hands — "  I  find  hi  opportune  readiness 
for  the  illustration  of  my  opinion.  I  think,  when  you  examine  his 
wounds,  you  will  probably  agree  with  me  about  this  ;  but,  should 
there  be  a  dissenting  voice  among  those  appointed  to  conduct  the 
investigation,  I  hope  I  shall  hear  of  it  at  once,  so  that  no  unjust 
censure  may  attach  to  any  act  of  mine. 

"And  now,  I  will  ask  you,  my  friends,  having  rendered  us  all 
the  assistance  possible  under  the  circumstances,  to  withdraw,  in 
accordance  with  those  laws  of  humanity  and  delicacy  familiar  to 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.  21 

all  noble  minds,  and  leave  us  alone  again  with  our  dead  and  with 
our  ruins.  The  mistress  of  this  mansion  is  ill,  from  distress  and 
horror  at  the  catastrophe  which  cuts  off  the  life  of  a  faithful  ser- 
vant under  peculiar  circumstances,  which,  however  accidental,  are 
not,  I  assure  you,  unconnected  with  pain  and  self-reproach." 

And  here  he  bowed,  and  laid  his  hand  on  his  heart  significantly, 
pausing  for  a  moment  in  his  harangue,  as  if  to  fix  attention  on 
himself  as  the  delinquent. 

"  I  wish,  principally  on  her  account,  to  restore  the  mansion  as 
speedily  as  possible  to  its  customary  condition  of  silence  and  re- 
pose. Smith  will  entertain  at  his  cottage  those  who  have  so 
nobly  come  forward  in  our  cause,  with  that  hospitality  and  profu- 
sion no  one  so  well  understands  as  a  thorough-bred  Englishman, 
grafted  on  our  American  tree.  The  means  for  this  shall  not  be 
wanting."  And,  as  he  spoke,  Dr.  Quintil  stepped  aside,  so  as  to 
reveal  the  burly  form  of  the  Englishman,  who  had  resolutely  kept 
his  ground,  and  handed  him  a  well-filled  pocket-book,  amid  the 
murmured  approbation  of  the  crowd,  now  moving  slowly  off. 

Smith,  who  had  evidently  been  waiting  for  his  turn  to  speak, 
received  it  sullenly  enough,  and  followed  in  silence  the  retreating 
stream,  some  loiterers  from  among  which  lingered  about  the  pre- 
mises, either  from  idleness  or  design,  until  nearly  sunset. 

"That  speech  was  terrible  work,  Jasper,"  said  Dr.  Quintil, 
wiping  his  excited  face,  as  he  drew  the  ponderous  bolt  across  the 
door  of  entrance,  and  shut  out,  as  he  hoped  and  supposed,  all 
further  intrusion.  "  Terrible  work  !  I  came  near  breaking  down, 
once  or  twice,  and  my  brain  reeled  like  that  of  a  drunken  man." 

"You  made  sad  work  of  figures,"  wrote  Jasper',  "in  that  last 
flight  of  yours,  that  daring  metaphor — than  which  nothing  since 
the  days  of  Daphne  has  ever  seemed  to  me  half  so  miraculous  ! 


22  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

Think  of  grafting  poor  Smith  bodily-— turning  his  own  horticultu- 
ral proficiency  against  him,  and  compelling  his  solid  British  flesh 
and  blood  to  enter  the  tough  bark  of  our  American  tree!  By 
the  by,  what  peculiar  species  is  that  which  typifies  our  country  ? 
Did  you  mean  birch,  or  ash,  or  hickory,  or  was  it  a  general  hit  ?" 

But  I  am  anticipating  in  telling  this  piece  of  folly  here,  so 
irrelevant  to  the  crushing  circumstances  around  us,  and  yet  so 
necessary,  perhaps,  to  sustain  those  who  indulged  in  it,  and  which 
did  not  reach  my  ears  for  days  after.  While  all  this  speech- 
making  and  diplomacy  were  going  on,  my  grandfather  had  slowly 
revived,  and  recognized  the  faces  bending  over  him,  although  still 
in  a  state  of  extreme  exhaustion  and  bewilderment. 

"  Where  am  I,  Camilla  1"  he  murmured. 

"  In  Lilian's  room.  A  fearful  accident  has  occurred  above- 
stairs — we  were  obliged  to  remove  you,"  she  replied. 

"Ay,  I  know — I  know,"  he  said,  feebly.  "  I  remember  now — 
failure,  destruction,  retribution,  perhaps,  if  there  is  such  a  thing  ! 
God  knows  1" 

"  Erastus,  does  your  strength  return  to  you  !"  asked  my  grand- 
mother, after  a  long  silence,  during  which  the  voices  and  tread  of 
a  retreating  crowd  came  very  gratefully  on  our  ears.  "  Do  you 
think  you  could  rise,  sustain  yourself  on  your  feet,  walk,  even,  if 
it  were  necessary  ?  Do  you  think  you  could  do  these  ?" 

He  replied  only  by  a  sorrowful  shake  of  the  head. 

"  Here  is  your  elixir,  Erastus,"  she  said,  extending  it  to  him, 
speaking  still  in  those  measured  tones  that  fell  so  coldly  on  my 
ear.  "  I  found  it  safe  in  the  general  ruin  around  it,  and  saved  it 
for  you,  for  an  emergency  like  this.  Perhaps  it  may  benefit  you, 
accustomed,  as  you  are,  to  its  use.  Taste  it  now,  for  it  is  all-im* 
portaut  you  should  rally — a  crisis  approaches." 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  23 

He  took  the  rial  from  her  hand  with  a  sort  of  spasmodic 
greediness,  and,  raising  it  to  his  lips,  drank  a  few  drops  ;  then,  aa 
if  changing  his  mind,  waved  it  away,  and  turned  his  head 
aside  : 

"  Why  should  I  care  to  collect  my  strength  ?"  he  said.  "  My 
last  experiment,  for  the  sake  of  which  I  forfeited  so  much  that 
was  precious  to  me,  is  a  failure  ;  and,  like  poor  Keats,  my  name 
shall  be  '  written  in  water.'  Camilla,  let  me  die  I" 

"  Would  that  you  could,  Erastus,  for  your  own  sake,  and  that 
of  all  connected  with  you.  But  I  know  too  well  the  tenacity  and 
elasticity  of  your  constitution  to  hope  for  such  a  result.  You 
will  revive,  but,  perhaps,  too  late  to  save  you  from  the  scaffold." 

"  Of  what  are  you  thinking,  Camilla  ?  Surely,  you  would  not 
betray  me  !" 

«  j  j»  There  was  a  world  of  scorn  in  that  monosyllabic  word, 
that  showed  how  his  question  had  stung  her. 

"  No,  no— not  that.  I  do  not  mean  that,  of  course,"  he  said, 
embarrassed  by  his  own  hasty  misconstruction  of  her  meaning. 
"  But  why  refer  at  all  to  so  bitter  a  possibility,  Camilla  ?  Why 
think  of  it  even  ?" 

"  Probability  I — certainty  !  say  rather,  Erastus.  Do  you  not 
know  that  the  existence  of  a  concealed  inmate  in  the  sealed 
chambers  of  Bouverie  has  been  brought  to  light  by  the  events  of 
this  morning  ?  The  house  has  been  full  of  strange,  inquisitive 
eyes.  Can  you  be  so  blind  to  your  true  position  as  to  suppose 
curiosity  will  not  find  its  own  means  of  gratification  ?  or  that 
another  day  will  be  suffered  to  pass  without  the  presence  of  the 
police  in  this  house  ?  Weak,  unfit,  as  you  are  at  present — God 
knows  above  any  other  being  I  have  ever  known  ! — to  contend  with 
such  disastrous  circumstances,  you  must  go  forth  alone,  and  seek 


24  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

shelter  and  concealment  elsewhere — if,  indeed,  egress  be  still  per- 
mitted to  you  by  your  foes." 

"  Camilla,  I  had  not  thought  of  this." 

The  shock  unnerved  him.  He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands, 
and  burst  into  a  passion  of  weeping.  My  grandmother  looked  on 
tmmoved.  But,  with  me,  his  mood  was  contagious.  I  clung  to 
him  with  convulsive  sobs,  partly  of  ill-repressed  indignation.  His 
weakness  seemed  my  strength. 

"  He  shall  not  go  forth  alone,"  I  said  ;  "  I  will  share  his  exile. 
I  am  young,  strong,  hardy — I  will  go  with  you,  grandfather,  and 
serve  you  always,  as  Fabius  did." 

"  Good  child — unmerited  devotion  I — poor,  sacrificed  old  man  !" 
were  the  broken  words  I  gathered  from  his  grief. 

"  Be  calm,  Erastus  !  the  circumstances  which  surround  you 
must  be  met  with  calmness,"  said  my  grandmother,  in  her  cold, 
grave  tones.  "  Go,  Lilian — you  only  unnerve  him — go,  breathe 
the  fresh  air,  and  take  needful  refreshment,  you  are  pale  and  ex- 
hausted. Go  1"  she  repeated,  seeing  that  I  hesitated,  "  this  is  no 
longer  a  request,  but  a  command,  Lilian,  necessary  for  the  good 
of  all.  I  insist  on  obedience." 

I  withdrew,  chilled  and  pained  by  the  severity  of  her  manner, 
out  of  keeping,  as  it  seemed  to  me  then,  with  the  sorrow  of  others, 
the  result,  as  I  now  know,  of  that  stringent  necessity  that  called 
for  the  exercise  of  every  power  she  possessed,  and  nerved  her  into 
sternness  as  the  best  defence  against  despair. 

My  first  thought,  on  leaving  my  grand-parents,  was  of  poor 
Fabius. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  26 


CHAPTER  III. 

I  FOUND  Bianca  sitting  alone  by  her  dead  husband,  in  one  of 
the  chambers  of  the  wing  assigned  to  their  use.  The  old  man 
looked  as  if  in  a  happy  sleep  ;  the  expression  of  his  face  was  per- 
fectly natural— scarcely  more  imperturbable  in  death  than  life. 
The  injury  which  killed  him  had  been  received  on  the  back  of  the 
head,  and  the  careful  hand  of  affection  had  effaced  all  traces  of 
violence. 

The  faithful  wife  had  laid  her  rosary  on  his  breast,  and  bound 
his  nerveless  hands  with  faded  ribbons.  In  his  thin  white  hair  she 
had  placed  a  wreath  of  everlasting,  of  gay  colors,  which  I  recog- 
nized as  one  that  had  long  hung  beneath  her  image  of  the  Virgin. 
The  quaint  and  unsuitable  head-dress  was  shocking  to  me  ;  but,  to 
her,  it  was  only  an  emblem  of  future  immortality. 

Two  consecrated  candles,  of  white  wax,  were  burning  at  his 
head,  two  were  at  his  feet ;  and  there  he  lay,  the  victim  of  fidelity  I 

"  Oh  !  God,  if  this  were  all  I" — I  thought — "  if  this  uncertain 
life  were  all,  what  confidence  could  we  feel  in  our  Creator  ! 
Where  would  be  his  justice,  his  mercy,  his  affection  ?  The  author 
of  this  evil  lives,  and  is  kindly  cared  for — his  faithful  tool  lies  here 
a  mangled  corpse  !" 

"  Poor  old  man,"  I  pursued  aloud,  "  you  are  gone  where  fidelity 
is  rewarded,  not  despised — gone  to  the  land  of  peace  and  compen- 
sation, where  I  hope  to  meet  you,  gentle  Fabius,  when  this  weary 
pilgrimage  is  over,  and  we  are  all  laid  at  rest  1"  My  tears  bathed 
his  insensible  waxen  face.  • 


20  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

"  He  loved  you  well,  Miss  Lilian,"  said  the  poor  weeping  wife  ; 
"  next  to  the  master  that  destroyed  him,  he  loved  you  ;  but  those 
who  serve  the  Evil  One  have  never  a  better  reward  than  this  1  I 
knew  how  it  would  be,  long  ago.  Oh  !  those  diamonds,  Misa 
Lilian — it  all  came  of  them  !  First,  there  was  the  long  imprison- 
ment in  Russia,  because  Mr.  Bouverie  told  the  Czar  he  could 
create  diamonds,  and  then  failed  to  come  up  to  his  contract,  after 
consiunliig  I  can't  tell  how  many  jewels  ;  then  all  the  trouble  that 
followed ! — uh,  better,  better  by  far,  that  the  master  had  never 
come  home  again,  than  to  do  as  he  has  done  !  Better  had  he 
died,  sure  enough,  as  we  heard  he  did." 

"  Bianca,  had  he  never  returned,  you  would  not  have  known 
your  husband.  Would  you  be  willing,  in  order  to  wipe  out  your 
sorrow,  to  give  up  all  memory  of  Fabius  ?" 

"No,  indeed,  Miss  Lilian,  Fabius  was  the  only  person  that 
cared  for  me  for  myself  alone  ;  and  these  ten  years  have  been 
happier  to  me  than  all  that  went  before." 

"When  did  my  grandfather  first  know  Fabius,  Bianca?"  I 
asked,  willing  to  waive  the  subject  first  suggested. 

"  In  his  boyhood,  Miss  Lilian,  when  he  lived  with  Madam  Am- 
brose, his  aunt;  the  master's  parents  died  when  he  was  a  baby,  I 
have  heard,  and  old  Ursa  Bouverie  and  his  sister  took  care  of 
him.  Fabius  was  butler  to  Madam  Ambrose.  She  was  a  grand 
lady  once,  though  afterward  she  was  reduced,  by  her  husband's  fail- 
ure and  death,  to  keep  a  young  ladies'  school  for  her  support ;  and 
he  says  she  was  an  angel  almost,  not  a  bit  like  any  other  Bouverie 
he  ever  heard  of,  so  between  a  devil  and  an  angel  his  chances  lay 
— the  master's  I  mean." 

"  Go  on,  Bianca."     (She  had  murmured  the  last  words.) 

"  Tes  indeed,  Miss  Lilian,  he  was  mighty  fond  of  Madam 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTTVEEIE.  27 

Ambrose,  and  lived  with  her  until  she  died,  and  then  passed  into 
your  grandfather's  service,  and  went  with  him  to  Russia,  and 
shared  his  captivity  there,  as  one  may  say  he  did  here,  and  wor- 
shipped him,  almost  sinfully  I  think,  and  always  told  him  so  ;  for 
I  am  sure,  Miss  Lilian  dear,  it  must  be  witchcraft,  or  something 
like  it,  that  could  make  anybody  love  that  cruel,  crafty,  selfish, 
spiteful  man,"  glancing  at  me  sidewise. 

"  Bianca,  have  a  care  1" 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Miss  Lilian  ;  a  body  must  speak  sometimes, 
or  die.  Oh !  my  poor,  dear  Fabius,  there  you  lie — without  so 
much  as  a  priest's  blessing,  or  the  comfort  of  a  last  confession, 
and  the  simple  idiot  that  has  not  sense  enough  to  hatch  a  lie,  tells 
us  he  saw  the  black  spirit  flying  out  of  the  dome  when  the  ex- 
plosion took  place,  with  something  white  in  his  claws ;  and  I 
know — I  know,"  sobbing  bitterly,  "  it  must  have  been  my  poor, 
doomed  husband's  soul !" 

"  Bianca,  this  was  a  pure  invention  of  that  fanciful  fool.  There 
was  black  smoke  and  white  vapor  passing  out  together,  but  with- 
out form  or  substance  ;"  and  I  described  the  scene  as  I  had  wit- 
nessed it  from  the  lawn,  not  omitting  the  appearance  of  my 
grandfather,  as  I  had  seen  him,  pale  and  bloody,  leaning  against 
the  walls  of  the  rotunda. 

This  account  seemed  to  tranquillize  her  a  little,  although  she 
still  lent  her  share  of  faith  to  Patrick's  relation.  She  was  not 
the  only  one  who  had  been  mistaken  in  the  opinion,  that  fools  are 
not  the  most  prolific,  if  not  the  most  successful  liars.  The  daring 
mendacity  of  persons  whose  understandings  are  below  mediocrity, 
and  their  surprising  cunning  in  sustaining  their  own  fabrications, 
are  among  the  few  proofs  I  know  of  that  system  of  compensation 
so  fondly  upheld  by  certain  philosophers. 


28  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOTJVEKIE. 

Before  I  left  Bianca,  she  made  me  sing  to  her  a  simple  hymn, 
she  singularly  loved,  that  I  had  found,  music  and  words,  among 
my  mother's  papers,  arranged,  I  have  ever  believed,  by  herself. 

The  low,  solemn  music,  the  earnest  words,  seemed  to  comfort 
her.  I  left  her  somewhat  composed,  and  made  my  way  through 
the  pantry,  that  communicated  between  her  room  and  the  dining- 
room,  where  I  supposed  by  this  time — it  was  now  dark — the  rup- 
per  might  be  served. 

I  had  eaten  nothing  since  breakfast-time — dinner  had  been  neg- 
lected in  the  trouble  of  that  day.  The  consequences  of  excite- 
ment and  fasting  were  beginning  to  evidence  themselves  in  my 
giddy  head  and  palpitating  heart,  and  I  was  glad  to  find  the 
table  spread,  and  the  tea-urn  steaming  on  the  lighted  board. 

How  material  we  are,  even  in  our  deepest  affliction,  and  how 
keenly  and  cunningly  the  neglected  physique  resents  the  slights 
offered  it  by  the  preoccupied  spirit  1 

Imagination  itself  is  but  a  kite,  of  which  the  body  holds  the 
string,  and  which  an  aching  finger,  or  a  dyspeptic  attack,  or  cold, 
or  heat,  or  hunger,  can  lay  flat  on  the  ground  beside  us. 

Shelley  forgot  to  eat  at  times,  his  biographers  say,  but  his 
body  never  forgot  that  it  had  not  eaten,  they  add,  and  fainted 
under  the  load  his  mind  tried  to  impose  on  its  injured  yoke-mate. 
But  this  is  no  time  for  disquisition." 

My  grandmother  and  Dr.  Quintil  were  already  seated  at  the 
table,  when  I  entered  the  dining-room,  on  which  Dame  McCor- 
mick,  assisted  by  Patrick,  was  coarsely  and  carelessly  piling  the 
viands  and  breads  she  had  prepared  for  the  evening  meal. 

Fortunately  for  herself,  she  could  not  hear  her  own  noisy 
ministry,  but  vanishing  soon,  with  a  scowl  and  a  harshly-banged 
door,  she  left  Patrick  to  complete  her  disorderly  arrangements 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  29 

I  sighed  as  I  thought  of  Fabius,  the  quiet,  the  neat-handed,  in 
contrast  to  all  the  fuss  and  folly  of  his  successors,  yet  could 
scarcely  refrain  from  smiling  the  next  minute,  at  the  ludicrous 
awkwardness  of  Patrick  McCormick,  and  his  still  more  ridiculous 
self-complacency,  as  he  darted  aimlessly  to  and  fro,  with  officious 
absurdity. 

"  Where  is  Jasper  ?"  I  asked,  as  I  seated  myself  at  the  table, 
and  glanced  across  it  at  his  empty  place. 

"  I  have  sent  him  for  Bishop  Clare,"  was  my  grandmother's 
reply.  In  the  meantime,  "  Father  Conrad, "  hearing  accidentally 
of  our  calamity,  at  Croften,  has  been  kind  enough  to  come  to  as 
in  our  affliction. 

I  looked  in  the  direction  her  eyes  suggested,  and  now  perceived, 
for  the  first  time,  that  a  stranger  was  seated  in  the  chimney- 
corner,  in  the  great  old-fashioned  chair  my  grandmother  usually 
occupied. 

"  This  is  my  granddaughter,  Father  Conrad,"  she  continued  in 
a  mechanical  way,  adding,  as  she  saw  me  about  to  rise  and  go  for- 
ward to  greet  the  stranger  with,  the  reverence  due  to  his  vocation, 
"  Sit  still,  Lilian,  for  the  present.  Let  Father  Conrad  rest  and 
warm,  and  you  can  persuade  him  afterward  to  have  a  cup  of 
tea." 

A  husky  voice  from  the  person  alluded  to  declined  the  tea  em- 
phatically, and  apparently  for  the  second  time,  and  a  fit  of  cough- 
ing and  wheezing  succeeded  this  impatient  and  spasmodic  refusal 
of  tendered  hospitality. 

A  strange,  half  sad,  half  amused  expression  flitted  over  my 
grandmother's  face,  as  these  uncultured  sounds  met  her  ear,  then 
died  away  again  into  gloom  and  dejection. 

Jt  was  indeed  almost  impossible  to  look  at  the  grotesque  object 


30  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

before  us,  without  feeling  an  inclination  to  smile.  Often  as  Jas- 
per had  alluded  to  the  strange  appearance  of  his  old  Latin 
teacher,  I  was  not  prepared  for  anything  quite  so  absurdly  ugly 
as  the  reality  presented ;  and  from  the  very  first  I  viewed  him 
with  instinctive  mistrust. 

From  my  position  at  the  table,  I  was  able  to  scrutinize  his 
whole  appearance,  as  I  sat  at  supper,  and  I  found  myself  drawing 
a  slightly  ironical  comparison  between  Bishop  Clare  and  his  sub- 
stitute. 

"  Can  this  old  man,  after  all,  be  an  emissary  of  Smith  ?"  1 
thought,  as  I  recalled  the  accounts  I  had  heard  of  his  mercenary 
and  sensual  nature,  mixed  with  a  certain  kindliness  and  sagacity 
that  gave  him  wonderful  influence  with  the  lower  orders  of  his 
countrymen  ;  "  or  is  his  errand  here  truly  one  of  mercy  ?" 

"  He  comes  to  see  about  poor  Fabius,"  whispered  my  grand- 
mother, as  if  reading  my  doubts  in  my  countenance,  "  perhaps  to 
watch  to-night  with  Bianca  ;  he  means  well,  we  must  be  civil." 

All  this  tune  I  felt  that  my  eyes  were  fastened,  almost  as  if  by 
fascination,  on  the  uncouth  priest,  who  sat  in  u  perfectly  uncon- 
cerned attitude,  stretching  his  large  feet,  covered  with  coarse, 
dusty  shoes,  to  meet  the  warmth  of  the  ruddy  fire,  and  blowing 
his  nose,  from  time  to  time,  on  a  great  yellow  bandanna  handker- 
chief, spotted  with  red. 

The  association  of  ideas  connected  with  this  stentorian  per- 
formance, would  certainly  have  marred  my  appetite  under  other 
circumstances,  but  I  was  absolutely  faint  from  hunger,  and  could 
not  afford  to  be  fastidious. 

But  I  forget ;  I  have  not  yet  described  the  peculiarities  which 
so  attracted,  yet  repelled  me. 

His  head  was  large  and  tonsured,  and  surrounded  with  a  fringe 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJ7EBIE.  81 

of  white  hair  ;  his  nose,  short  and  thick,  and  purplish  at  the  end, 
with  open,  upturned  nostrils,  and  his  cheeks  flabby  and  furrowed. 
His  upper  lip  was  of  monstrous  length,  and  his  chin  of  dispro- 
portionate shortness,  while  the  loss  of  teeth,  indicated  by  his 
indistinct  and  mumbling  voice,  might  have  occasioned  or  greatly 
increased  both  of  these  defects.  His  stout  and  round-shouldered 
figure  was  arrayed  in  a  priest's  long,  straight  coat,  made  of  some 
coarse,  black  material,  from  the  loose  sleeves  of  which  his  large, 
ungloved  hands  protruded.  The  power  and  vigor  of  his  native 
constitution  was  plainly  evidenced  by  these  coarse  and  blunt  ex- 
tremities, from  which  the  sinews  and  veins  rose  like  whip-cords, 
distinctly  visible  even  from  a  remote  seat,  and  in  the  uncertain 
light  of  an  unusually  dim  lamp  and  smoldering  coal  fire. 

Immediately  after  supper,  Dr.  Quintil  withdrew,  indicating,  I 
thought,  by  a  glance,  the  necessity  of  his  absence,  and  its  cause, 
as  well  as  the  importance  of  self-command  in  our  case.  My 
grandmother  remained  near  the  table,  apparently  busying  herself 
with  the  tea-things,  and  showing  Patrick  how  to  dispose  of  them, 
and  how  to  regulate  the  temperature  of  the  tea-water,  which  he 
had  brought  scalding  hot.  I  rose  to  assist  her,  as  I  usually 
did. 

"  I  would  prefer,"  she  whispered,  "  that  you  tfould  talk  to  the 
old  man  ;  I  cannot  make  the  effort  to-night.  Engage  his  atten- 
tion if  possible.  Perhaps  after  a  while  he  may  go  to  Bianca's 
room." 

"  God  speed  him  1"  was  my  mental  rejoinder,  as  I  took  a  chair 
near  him,  and  prepared  to  obey  my  grandmother's  request,  with 
a  heavy  and  reluctant  heart. 

"You  have  had  a  long,  fatiguing  walk,  Father  Conrad,"  1 
said,  "that  is,  if  you  came  from  Croften  on  foot,"  and  I  glanced 


32  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVERIE. 

at  his  dusty  shoes,  as  evidences  of  the  correctness  of  my  supposi- 
tion. "  I  am  sorry  it  did  not  give  you  a  better  appetite  for  your 
supper." 

"  My  cough  troubles  me,  my  daughter,"  was  the  wheezing 
reply,  enlivened  with  an  Irish  brogue,  of  the  most  unpleasant 
description — that  which  contracts  instead  of  broadening  the 
vowels.  "  I  am  but  poorly  jist  now  ;  besides  I  had  a  crust  of 
bread  in  my  pocket,  lift  from  my  breakfist,  and  there  were  wild 
greepes  ou  the  road,  and  the  two  formed  a  repast  fit  for  a  mon- 
arch— if  monarchs  could  only  think  so,"  laughing  low  at  this 
sotto  voce  reflection  of  his,  "  and  surely  good  enough  for  a  poor 
anchorite  like  myself." 

"  I  should  call  that  very  poor  living,  Father  Conrad,"  and 
I  recalled  with  a  smile  Jasper's  account  of  his  voracity  and 
gourmandise.  "  Why,  the  birds  fare  as  well  1  I  had  no  idea 
that  your  religion  helped  to  sustain  the  body  as  well  as  the 
soul." 

"Oh,  it  does  wonders,  my  dear,"  he  replied;  and  again  he 
laughed  that  little,  low,  wheezing  laugh,  that  jarred  me  into 
silence  again. 

"  I  am  talking  nonsense,"  I  thought,  "  and  the  old  man  sees 
my  object  perhaps.  What  shall  I  say  to  him  ?  Good  heavens, 
will  he  never  go  !  Oh,  If  Bianca  would  but  send  for  him.  I 
feel,  I  feel  more  and  more  convinced  he  is  here  for  no  good 
purpose." 

As  I  recovered  from  my  conflict  of  feeling,  and  prepared  to 
renew  my  efforts  to  entertain  him,  I  looked  up,  and  caught. 
through  the  blue,  iron-rimmed  glasses  he  wore,  the  gleam  of  his 
deep,  dark  eye,  fixed  suspiciously  on  me.  It  was  averted  in  a 
moment. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  33 

"  Would  you  like  to  look  at  the  newspapers,  Father  Conrad  ?" 
I  asked,  thrilled  and  terrified  even  by  his  furtive  vigilance,  and 
utterly  at  a  loss  for  subjects  of  conversation  ;  "  if  so,  I  will  fetch 
them  to  you,  and  place  candles  beside  you." 

"  No,  my  dear,  it  is  not  worth  while  to  trouble  you,"  was  his 
indifferent  rejoinder ;  "  my  eyes'  are  weak,  I  seldom  use  them  by 
night,  except  when  I  read  my  Yulgate  ;  and,  at  the  bist  of  tunes, 
newspeepers  are  bothersome  things  to  me.  I  am  a  man  of  peace, 
you  know,  and  the  poleetical  and  releegious  squabbles  of  the  world 
in  no  wise  intreest  me,  taken  up  as  I  am  with  one  great  considera- 
tion alone." 

"  I  suppose  you  admired  the  comet  very  much,  Father  Conrad, 
as  a  part  of  religion  even,"  I  observed,  driven  to  desperation  for  a 
theme  of  conversation,  after  another  hiatus  hi  the  dialogue,  during 
which  I  caught  again  that  furtive,  momentary  glance  darted  at 
me,  and  then  withdrawn.  "  Even  we  poor  worldly-minded  people 
were  much  impressed,"  I  added,  shivering  almost  with  the  unde- 
fined apprehensions  that  oppressed  me  in  connection  with  this 
unbidden  guest. 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  was  the  careless  answer,  "I  may  say  I  ad- 
mired that  nebulous  body  you  call  a  comet,  as  one  might  admire 
a  fixed  rocket,  which  it  greatly  resimbled  ;  but  you  are  mistaken 
about  my  releegious  feeling  connected  with  such  a  mere  matter  of 
moonshine  as  that.  It  is  the  inner,  and  not  the  outer,  heaven  that 
concerns  an  anointed  priest  of  God." 

I  was  quite  silent,  with  mingled  disgust  and  conjecture,  when 
he  relieved  me  somewhat  by  requesting  me  to  shade  the  lamp — 
dun  enough  before,  I  thought,  in  the  absence  of  the  skillful  hand 
of  Fabius — as  his  eyes  were  weak. 

"And  now  bring  me  yonder  footstool,  my  dear,"  he  continued, 


34  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKIE. 

when  I  had  placed  the  green  reading-shade  over  the  lamp,  and 
again  approached  him,  and  he  pointed  to  one  of  embroidered  vel- 
vet, on  which  he  soon  proceeded  to  place  his  clumsy,  dusty  feet. 
"  There,  that  is  quite  comfortable  ;  now  you  may  join  your 
mother,  and  help  in  the  dish  washing,  if  you  choose,  for,  with  your 
permeesion,  I  will  settle  down  for  a  little  nap.  The  old  man  is 
tired." 

"And  infinitely  tiresome,"  I  thought,  as  I  withdrew,  thus  sum- 
marily dismissed  from  further  attendance  on  the  greatest  bore  I 
had  ever  encountered.  I  could  not  repress  a  laugh,  however,  as  I 
turned  a  moment  later  to  look  at  him,  and  saw  that  he  had 
spread  the  yellow  bandanna  over  his  head,  as  if  to  insure  a  more 
quiet  enjoyment  of  his  repose,  while  his  head  bobbed  about  like  a 
buoy  at  sea. 

"Lilian,"  my  grandmother  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "my  expecta- 
tions are  more  than  realized  by  the  occurrences  of  the  last  hour. 
Either  your  grandfather  is  beyond  " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  loud  and  sudden  knocking  at  the  front 
door.  The  words  died  on  her  lips,  and  the  half-smile  from  ho* 
face,  now  blanched  with  terror. 

"I  knew  it  would  be  thus,"  she  whispered,  hoarsely;  "the 
officers  are  here  !" 

Again  the  loud  impatient  knocking  was  heard  without,  a^com- 
pauied  now  by  voices,  among  which  we  distinguished  that  of  Dr. 
Quintilian. 

"  Patrick,  open  the  door,"  said  my  grandmother.  "  Lilian,  be 
firm — our  trust  is  in  God." 

She  dashed  the  tears  from  her  eyes  with  a  rapid  motion  of  her 
hand,  and,  with  that  surprising  self-control  that  belonged  to  her, 
busied  herself  with  apparent  unconcero  in  wiping  the  tea-cup  she 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEEIE.  35 

held  ;  bat  still  the  deadly  pallor  continued,  and  still  the  old  man 
slept  on. 

"  He  is  their  accomplice,"  I  murmured  ;  "  I  am  sure  of  it  now 
— this  slumber  is  but  feigned,  he  will  wake  presently.  Thank 
God  !  the  spy  has  learned  little  to  report." 

By  this  time  footsteps  were  hi  the  hall.  In  another  moment, 
the  door  of  the  dining-room  was  thrown  wide  open,  and  Dr. 
Quintil  entered,  pale,  but  resolute  ;  and  fixing  his  grave  eyes  on 
my  grandmother's  face,  seemed  by  their  expression  to  exhort  her 
to  be  calm.  Two  men  followed  almost  immediately  on  his  steps, 
dressed  in  rough  coats  and  slouched  hats,  atd  carrying  riding- 
whips  in  their  hands.  They  bowed,  as  they  came  in,  but  did  not 
uncover  their  heads,  and  stood  stolidly  waiting  for  Dr.  Quintil  to 
announce  their  errand. 

"  These  gentlemen,"  he  said,  addressing  my  grandmother,  and 
laying  an  involuntary  stress  on  the  word  so  misapplied,  "bear  a 
judicial  order  for  the  arrest  of  your  late  husband,  Brastus  Bou 
verie.  The  opinion  seems  to  have  obtained  ground  that  he  stW 
survives.  They  demand  to  search  your  premises." 

She  smiled  a  cold,  derisive  smile,  and  her  cheek,  until  then  so 
pale,  flushed  again  in  the  fullness  of  her  wounded  pride,  and  the 
strong  effort  she  was  making  to  command  her  feelings.  Yet  she 
replied,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  still  continuing  her  occupa- 
tion, as  if  indifferent  to  their  presence  : 

"Let  them  proceed  to  their  task  at  once,  if  it  needs  must  be," 
and  with  a  stately,  yet  not  uncourteous,  gesture  of  the  hand,  she 
indicated  the  direction  they  should  take. 

They  seemed  to  be  involuntarily  impressed  by  her  mien,  her 
manner,  her  beauty,  perhaps,  still  so  remarkable,  and  which 

claims,  wherever  it  exists,  so  large  and  unjust  a  share  of  man's! 
18 


36  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKEE. 

respect.  They  removed  their  hats  simultaneously  ;  and  one  of 
them,  the  leader,  stepping  back,  as  they  were  about  to  leave  the 
room,  in  a  rough  but  manly  voice  made  a  half  apology  for  his 
proceedings  : 

"  We  have  come,  madam,  to  fulfill  the  law,  not  to  trouble  you 
and  yours/'  and  he  glanced  at  me,  trembling  and  tearful  as  I  was. 
"  This  is  a  notion  your  gardener,  Smith,  has  set  afloat ;  but  no 
sensible  man  puts  much  faith  in  it.  Facts  are  still  fresh  in  this 
neighborhood,  about  Colonel  Bouverie's  suicide  ;  but,  you  know, 
as  the  warrant  is  out,  we  must  proceed,  and  plant  guard  over  the 
house  until  it  is  satisfied." 

As  he  spoke,  he  surveyed  her  keenly,  hoping,  perhaps,  to  gather 
something  to  aid  his  investigation  from  her  face  or  manner. 

"  Certainly,"  she  replied,  returning  his  glance  calmly,  and  even 
haughtily.  "  I  understand  all  this — you  are  but  an  irresponsible 
instrument  of  the  law  ;  proceed,  but  get  through,  I  beg,  as  soon 
as  possible.  I  confess  the  matter  annoys  me,"  and  she  resumed 
her  occupation,  that  of  wiping  a  small  china  cup,  with  a  cool  in- 
difference that  surprised  and  almost  shocked  me — knowing,  as  I 
did,  how  much  she  was  perplexed  and  agitated — and  completely 
deceived  him,  I  think." 

As  Dr.  Quintil  closed  the  door  after  the  officers,  the  cup 
shivered  in  her  grasp,  and  blood  flowed  from  the  lacerated 
fingers  that  had  closed  over  it  with  such  spasmodic  strength. 

And  still  the  priest  slept  on  his  real  or  simulated  slumber. 
"  Oh,  would  that  he  were  gone  1"  I  whispered,  as  I  bound  her 
hand  with  fragments  of  my  handkerchief.  "  Let  us  arouse  him  ; 
and  send  him  to  Bianca  !" 

"  Not  yet,"  she  replied,  in  low  accents  ;  "not  yet ;  but, 
Lilian,  can  it  be  possible  that  you  are  in  earnest,  in  making  such 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEBIE.  3T 

a  suggestion  ?  Do  you  not  know  every  outlet,  even  that  to  the 
pantry,  is  guarded  now  ?" 

"My  grandfather,"  I  whispered;  "what  of  him?  has  he 
escaped — or  will  they  apprehend  him  ?" 

"  God  knows,  my  child,  what  his  fate  may  be,"  she  murmured 
softly — then  gazing  wistfully  in  my  face,  she  added  :  "  You  give 
me  reason  to  hope  that  all  may  yet  go  well  with  him.  I  could 
not  have  believed  it  before." 

"  You  speak  in  enigmas,  grandmother — explain  yourself." 

"  Hush,  Lilian,  he  will  hear  you.  Let  us  be  silent,  my  love — 
guarded  for  the  present.  There  are  watchful  eyes  and  ears  about 
us  ;  come,  assist  me  to  put  away  the  tea-service — the  task  will 
compose  us  both,  and  when  they  return,  it  will  be  best  they  should 
find  us  occupied. 

The  minutes  rolled  heavily  away — ten,  fifteen,  twenty,  twenty- 
five  were  gone,  and  in  five  more,  just  as  the  clock  struck  the 
half-hour  after  eight,  the  officers  reappeared,  headed  as  before, 
by  Dr.  Quintil. 

"  There  are  traces  of  recent  occupancy  in  those  upper  apart- 
ments, long  supposed  to  be  disused,"  said  Hernshaw,  the  principal 
officer  ;  "  but  we  find  no  occupant." 

"What  traces  do  you  speak  of?"  asked  my  grandmother, 
sharply  ;  "  you  found  bedding  stored  there  for  safe-keeping — a 
chest  of  clothes  belonging  to  Colonel  Bouverie,  in  old  tunes — and 
whatever  the  fire  has  spared  of  furniture  and  cabinets  deposited 
there  in  memory  of  the  past.  You  have  found  neither  linen  nor 
papers  to  warrant  you  in  the  belief  of  recent  occupancy  ;  and  Dr. 
Quintil  has  sufficiently  explained  to  you,  I  cannot  doubt,  the  facts 
connected  with  the  chemical  apparatus,  to  convince  you  that  our 
safety  was  concerned,  in  banishing  that  to  the  upper  story." 


38  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

She  had,  indeed,  used  well  the  few  hours  of  privacy  she  had 
obtained  that  day,  in  causing  the  personal  effects  of  my  grand- 
father, those  in  constant  use,  to  be  destroyed  or  effectually  con- 
cealed, so  as  to  give  his  chambers  the  appearance  of  long-deserted 
premises.  But  as  a  small  leak  will  admit  the  sea  into  the 
doomed  vessel  and  sink  it — so  had  one  oversight  on  her  part, 
confounded  all  her  caution. 

A  pair  of  gloves  had  been  dropped  in  his  hasty  flight,  and  of 
these  Hernshaw  had  possessed  himself.  Worse  than  all,  with  the 
exquisite  care  and  detail  my  grandfather  bestowed  on  every  object 
around  him,  he  had  written  his  name  on  the  lining,  with  the  date 
of  the  present  year.  It  was  his  fancy  to  do  things  in  this  way, 
and  his  habit  in  cold  weather  to  wear  kid-gloves,  when  reading, 
or  handling  metallic-instruments,  that  chilled  his  sensitive  frame. 

From  his  capacious  pocket  Hernshaw  now  drew  these  gloves, 
and  coolly,  without  remark,  held  up  the  signature  and  date  for 
my  grandmother's  observation. 

He  had  struck  the  mark  this  time — she  trembled  and  grew 
pale  ;  falsehood  was  not  her  element,  she  was  silent,  and  con- 
founded by  this  slight  circumstance. 

"  It  is  probable,"  he  said,  "  from  all  that  I  can  ascertain,  that 
your  charge,  whosoever  he  be,  has  escaped,  and  I  must  be  moving 
off  in  brisk  pursuit  ;  but  before  I  go  I  have  still  one  duty  to 
perform.  Who,"  and  he  turned  curiously  to  the  object  of  his 
investigation — still  glancing  furtively  at  my  grandmother  across 
his  shoulder  with  evident  suspicion.  "Who  is  that  old  man 
sleeping  by  the  fire  ?" 

The  question  seemed  to  arouse  her  to  strength  and  indignation 
even. 

"  He  calls  himself  Father  Conrad,  a  stranger,  so  far  to  me  an 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  39 

intruder  even,"  she  replied,  in  rapid  and  haughty  accents.  "  His 
errand  here  is  one  of  mercy  to  our  afflicted  servant,  and  duty  to 
the  dead.  I  have  no  more  to  say  about  him ;  examine  him  if  you 
like — what  remains,  you  can  find  out  for  yourself." 

Hernshaw  seemed  baffled  again — he  had  evidently  counted  on 
some  discovery  in  that  quarter,  aided  by  the  abruptness  of  his 
onset.  He  stood  for  a  moment  evidently  disconcerted  by  her 
manner. 

"  I  have  heard  of  Father  Conrad — but  I  have  never  seen  him," 
he  remarked,  at  last.  "  Here,  dements,"  and  he  turned  to  his 
more  silent  and  retiring  comrade.  "  Come  forward,  and  identify 
this  man  ;  you  know  the  father  1" 

At  this  moment,  as  if  to  assist  their  investigation,  Father 
Conrad  stirred  in  his  sleep.  His  head  dropped  forward  on  his 
breast,  and  the  bandanna  slipping  from  its  place  as  a  veil, 
assumed  the  position  of  apron,  and  fell  over  his  knees,  leaving 
the  tonsured  head  and  ludicrously  homely  face,  with  its  hanging 
nnderlip,  fully  exposed  to  view. 

"  This  certainly  is  Father  Conrad  •"  said  Clements,  approach- 
ing him  cautiously,  and  punching  the  smoldering  coal-fire  into  a 
momentary  bituin'mous  blaze,  so  as  to  obtain  a  better  light  for 
his  investigation  :  "  Father  Conrad,  by  all  that's  holy  1"  he 
reiterated  ;  "  and  yet,"  he  added,  in  subdued  tones,  "  I  could 
have  sworn  I  saw  him  starting  off  in  the  Mapleton  coach  from 
Croften,  at  five  o'clock  this  afternoon.  It  beats  the  bees  1" 

"  The  convent  lies  on  that  route,  you  know,"  interposed  Dr. 
Quintil ;  "he  must  have  received  intimation  of  our  necessity 
before  he  arrived  there — and  changing  his  mind,  turned  on  hj,s 
path.  He  is  evidently  travel-worn." 

Clements  glanced  at  his  dusty  shoes.     "  He  sleeps  as  if  he  was 


40  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

either  drank  or  very  tired,"  lie  muttered  ;  but  Hernshaw  stirring 
the  sleeper  rudely  with  the  butt-end  of  his  riding-whip,  said  in  a 
loud,  authoritative  voice,  which  cut  short  all  further  temporizing  : 

"  Rouse  up,  old  man,  and  speak  for  yourself  !  How  do  you 
reconcile  these  points  ?  Explain  quickly — I  must  be  going — how 
was  it  ;  how  was  it,  Father  Conrad  ?" 

"  I  cannot  go,"  said  the  priest,  muttering  in  his  disturbed 
slumber.  "  I  tell  you  it  is  too  far  to  walk  to  Bouverie  this 
evening." 

"  Wake  up,  I  am  in  a  hurry,  I  tell  yoa,"  said  Hernshaw,  la/ing 
his  hand  on  the  priest's  shoulder,  and  shaking  him  slightly. 
"  Come,  give  a  satisfactory  account  of  yourself — or  prepare  to  go 
with  us." 

"  Are  you  riding,  gentlemen  ?"  inquired  the  old  man,  straight- 
ening himself  in  his  chair,  and  adjusting  his  spectacles,  with  the 
air  of  one  just  roused  to  a  clear  sense  of  his  situation.  "  If  so,  I 
will  be  glad  of  a  lift  to  Croften  ;  I  am  foot-sore  and  fairly  broke 
down,  and  have  been  sleeping  in  my  chair,  I  believe  ;  but  I 
forget — I  must  attend  to  my  little  beesness  here  first  ;  perhaps 
you  could  wait  for  me  an  hour  or  so,  to  obleege  me  ?" 

While  the  priest  spoke  he  grasped  his  yellow  bandanna  in  his 
great  shrivelled  hands,  and  looked  steadily  at  the  officer. 

"  I  am  glad  of  this  delay,"  I  thought  ;  "  it  will  give  my  grand- 
father more  tune  to  elude  his  pursuers.  With  God's  help,  he  will 
reach  St.  Stephen  s  before  morning — and  once  there,  Bishop  Clare 
will  protect  him  with  his  life." 

A  brief  murmured  consultation  was  going  on  between  the 
officers,  while  these  thoughts  passed  through  my  mind,  which 
ended  in  Hernshaw's  turning  respectfully  to  my  grandmother,  and 
signifying  his  intention  to  depart. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.  41 

"  Clements  will  go  at  once  to  the  convent,"  he  said,  "  and  un- 
derstand the  cause  of  Father  Conrad's  mission  here,  as  some 
doubt  seems  attached  to  it.  Until  this  matter  is  made  clear,  we 
must  plant  a  guard  over  your  house,  as  well  as  to  prevent  the 
return  of  the  fugitive.  At  daylight,  or  as  soon  as  his  apprehen- 
sion is  certain,  your  premises  will  be  vacated  ;  but  I  hope,  truly, 
madam,"  he  added,  with  a  tone  of  courtesy  in  his  voice,  "  that 
nothing  will  occur  to  distress  you  further  under  your  own  roof." 

He  withdrew,  followed  by  Clements,  and  a  few  moments  later 
the  closing  of  the  hall-door,  and  the  drawing  of  the  ponderous  bolt 
across  its  leaves  by  Dr.  Quintil's  hand,  announced  their  final 
departure  for  that  night ;  but  we  knew  that  armed  sentinels 
paced  the  pavement  in  every  direction,  and  guarded  every  avenue 
of  egress  from  Bouverie. 

"  Oh,  what  shall  be  done,  Paul  ?"  said  my  grandmother,  as 
Dr.  Quintil  ree'ntered  the  apartment,  and  she  threw  herself 
wildly  back  in  her  chair,  as  though,  after  the  miserable  nerve 
tension  of  the  last  hour,  she  could  no  longer  restrain  her  feelings, 
even  in  sight  of  the  dozing  priest,  half-conscious  witness  as  he 
was  of  her  proceedings . 

"  Where  shall  we  turn  ?  We  cannot  save  him  now — flight  is 
impossible." 

Dr.  Quintil  made  no  reply  ;  but  proceeded  at  once  to  bolt  and 
lock  all  doors  leading  from  the  dining-room,  first  stepping  into 
the  pantry  to  secure  that  of  the  outer-court ;  after  which  he 
threw  up  the  sashes  to  try  the  fastenings  of  the  shutters,  and 
drawing  these  dowu  again,  examined  the  catches  above  them 
which  held  them  firmly  in  their  place. 

"  Lend  me  your  pin-cushion,  Lilian/''  he  said  ;  and,  on  receiving 
it,  he  proceeded  to  mount  on  a  chair,  and  lap  across,  and  pin 


42  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

together,  with  the  utmost  precision,  the  plush-lined  damask  cur- 
tains  from  a  point  as  high  as  he  could  reach  above  him  to  the 
floor  below,  after  effecting  which,  he  turned  to  us  with  something 
like  satisfaction  in  his  countenance. 

"  We  are  free  from  all  possible  external  observation,  now,  at 
least,"  he  said,  "  and  we  have  breathing-time  ;  this  much  we  have 
accomplished — this  much,  if  no  more." 

"  Oh,  Qnintil,  I  am  in  despair !  there  is  no  hope — none — he 
must  be  apprehended." 

"  Grandmother,  remember  he,  may  hear  you,"  and  I  pointed  to 
Father  Conrad,  who  again  sat  gently  nodding  in  his  chair.  "  I 
thought  the  priest  was  to  go  to  Bianca  ?  why  this  delay  ?  They 
will  certainly  permit  him  to  pass  to  her  room  under  escort  ?" 

"It  matters  little,  child,  who  hears  me  now!  At  daylight  the 
officers  will  return,  and  the  desperate  game  be  over.  All  is  lost, 
unless  he  escapes  to-night  1" 

"  Can  it  be  that  he  is  still  concealed  at  Bouverie  ?"  I  asked, 
with  eagerness.  "I  thought  he  was  safe — I  thought  you  inti- 
mated as  much  before  the  officers  came  in ;  I  supposed  him 
beyond  these  walls  at  least,  on  his  way  to  Bishop  Clare,  perhaps  ; 
and  I  trembled,  lest  riding  in  the  same  direction,  they  might  over- 
take him." 

"  No,  no,  Lilian,  he  was  too  weak  to  hazard  this — too  weak 
to  walk — to  stand,  even  ;  but  can  you  be  serious,  Lilian  ?  Have 
you  suspected  nothing?"  And  she  rose,  and  stood  eagerly 
before  me. 

"  What,  grandmother  ?" 

In  another  moment  she  stood  behind  the  father,  and  unfastened, 
as  one  might  do  a  child's  pinafore,  the  clasp  that  held  on  the 
singular  vizor  he  wore. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEK1E.  4:3 

"  No  exclamations,  Lilian  !"  she  said,  as  she  held  up  before  me 
the  gutta-percha  mask — face,  tonsured  head,  wig,  spectacles,  and 
all,  in  one  piece — revealing,  as  she  did  so,  the  closely-cut,  steel 
grey  hair  and  refined  features  of  my  grandfather  composed  in  deep 
sleep  beneath. 

"  Oh,  wonderful ! — was  ever  disguise  like  this  ?"  I  could  not  help 
saying  aloud,  as  I  gazed  with  uplifted  hands  on  the  totally  un- 
expected revelation  before  me. 

"  Was  ever  character  so  sustained  ?"  added  Dr.  Quintil. 

"  He  sleeps  profoundly  at  last  I — he  is  so  sick — so  feeble  !" 
my  grandmother  said,  laying  the  mask  aside,  and  gazing  on  his 
face  with  deep  solicitude.  "  Let  him  find  repose  while  he  can,  in 
every  interval  of  danger  or  distress  !  Unrest  enough  there  is  in 
store  for  him.  Oh,  Quintil,  what  trials,  lie  before  him  1  God 
pity  us  all,  if,  indeed,  as  I  have  thought  sometimes,"  (she  murmured 
the  conclusion  of  the  sentence,)  "he  has  not  utterly  withdrawn 
from  us." 

"  He  is  better,"  said  Dr.  Quintil,  corning  forward,  and  gazing 
earnestly  on  his  fixed,  sleeping  countenance,  "  much  better  !  His 
wonderful  recuperative  powers  have  come  to  his  assistance,  and 
we  have  reason  to  hope  that  he  may  yet  be  able  to  effect  his 
escape  before  the  return  of  Hernshaw." 

"  Not  with  that  armed  police  without,  Quintil !  No,  Paul,  he 
is  doomed  !  The  bolt  so  long  suspended  falls  at  last,  and  we  are 
crushed." 

"  I  can  heal  the  steps  of  the  watch  on  the  pavement  without," 
t  said  ;  "  may  they  not  hear  our  voices  as  well,  and  learn  our  pro- 
ceedings thus  ?  May  they  not,  having  knowledge  of  these,  force 
an  entrance  even  ?" 

"  The  entrance  could  only  be  made  by  violence,"  said  Dr.  Quinti), 


44  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE. 

"  our  voices  they  cannot  hear  beyond  an  inarticulate  murmur— 
I  have  ascertained  this  already  by  experiment. ;  and,  for  the  first 
man  who  lays  a  hand  on  any  inmate  of  Bouverie,  I  have  this  in 
readiness." 

And  the  man  of  peace  drew  from  his  bosom  a  deadly  weapon — 
then  recently  perfected,  I  believe,  since  commonly  known  as  a  re- 
volver— with  an  expression  of  face  that  indicated  sufficiently  his 

/  . 
determination  to  test  its  powers,  if  needful. 

He  had  purchased  it  when  Smith  commenced  his  system  of  an- 
noyance, and  had  become  a  proficient  in  its  use.  The  gutta- 
percha  disguise  had  also  been  provided  at  this  period,  with  refer- 
ence to  the  plan  of  securing  Bishop  Clare's  assistance,  should  our 
flight  to  Italy  be  determined  on  as  a  measure  of  security  from 
Smith's  persecutions.  It  was  supposed  that,  as  Father  Conrad, 
my  grandfather  could  gain  the  sea-coast  unmolested,  and,  dropping 
his  disguise  there,  proceed  unquestioned  with  his  family. 

It  was  with  the  hope  that  through  his  agency  this  might  still 
be  effected,  that  Jasper  had  been  sent  to  Bishop  Clare,  with  the 
request  that  the  real  Father  Conrad  might  be  immured  for  a  few 
days  in  the  walls  of  St.  Stephen's.  It  has  been  seen  how  this  plan 
failed. 

A  mask  which  Jasper  had  prevailed  on  his  old  Latin  teacher 
to  permit  him  to  mold  in  plaster  of  Paris,  intending  it,  as  he  did, 
for  a  study  of  Silenus,  had  served  as  the  model  for  this  disguise. 
Dr.  Quintil  had  carefully  superintended  the  coloring  and  accesso- 
ries of  the  face  in  a  distant  city,  and  with  such  success  that  the 
German  notion  of  the  "  double"  might  have  been  impressed  on  the 
father  himself,  could  he  have  seen  his  effigy.  There  never  was 
anything  so  life-like  as  this  imitation.  Even  in  daylight  the 
practised  eye  could  scarcely  have  detected  aught  unnatural.  The 


very  hands  of  the  coarse  old  man  were  imitated  in  gloves  of 
gutta  percha — a  material  then  little  known — to  perfection,  and  the 
making  up  of  the  figure  was  also  strictly  accurate.  My  grand- 
father had  known  Father  Conrad  from  his  boyhood,  and  had  suc- 
cessfully imitated  his  peculiarities  a  thousand  tunes  before  he  ever 
dreamed  of  making  these  available  for  his  own  safety.  Such  is 
the  history  of  this  transaction,  in  which  a  philosopher  so  success- 

• 

fully  played  the  mimic,  and  which,  improbable  as  it  seems,  is  sur- 
passed every  day  in  common  masquerade. 

But  my  digression  lengthens.  I  forget  the  anxious  group  left 
standing  all  this  time  around  the  chair  of  a  calm  sleeper  in  the 
dining-room  at  Bouverie.  I  forget  that  the  reader  forms  one  of 
these. 

Suddenly  the  actor  starts  to  his  feet,  throws  off  the  cumbrous 
coat,  with  its  manifold  stuffings,  that  concealed  his  slender  figure, 
and,  with  the  flashing  eye,  and  brilliant  smile,  that  betrayed  his 
simulated  slumber,  stands  erect,  elastic,  in  his  strange  mixture  of 
youth  and  age,  before  their  astonished  gaze  : 

"  Uprose  the  Dervish  with  that  burst  of  light, 
Not  less  his  change  of  form  appalled  the  sight ; 
Uprose  that  Dervish,  not  in  saintly  garb, 
But  like  a  warrior  bounding  on  his  barb." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "you  are  right,  Quintil,  I  have  marvellous 
recuperative  powers,  thanks  to  a  medicine  worth  more  than  your 
whole  pharmacopoeia,  and  in  spite  of  vigilance  and  debility,  I  will 
go  forth  this  night,  and  elude  pursuit  and  vengeance.  Give  me 
your  weapon,  Quintil.  I  shall  readily  learn  its  management,  and 
take  your  disguise  again,  I  pray  you,  as  a  grateful  token  from 
Erastus  Bouverie  to  Father  Conrad.  The  old  fellow  will  regard 
it  suspiciously,  I  imagine,  as  a  snake  might  look  at  his  cast  skin, 


40  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVERIE. 

ana  I  would  not  wear  it  again,  I  assure  you,  to  be  the  holy  friar 
in  substance  as  well  as  shadow.  No,  come  what  may,  I  will  meet 
fate  as  I  am,  henceforth  a  man,  molded  in  the  image  of  his 
maker  (that  maker  Lucifer  himself,  who  knows  ?)  yet  a  goodly 
man,  not  an  incubus.  Bear  with  me,  Camilla,"  he  said,  as  ha 
saw  grave  displeasure  written  in  her  face  ;  "  should  I  collapse, 
there  is  an  end  of  me.  By  the  way,  what  an  inopportune  visit 
the  old  fellow  made  to  Mapleton  to-day  ;  but  for  that  Croften 
coach,  we  should  have  had  no  trouble.  After  all,  what  did 
they  suspect  ?  They  did  not  doubt  his  identity  it  seems — what 
then  ?» 

"  Grandfather,  there  was  an  unaccountable  mistrust  in  my 
mind  with  regard  to  you  all  the  time,  and  yet  I  did  not  dream  of 
disguise.  I  believe  we  are  instinctively  impressed  sometimes 
beyond  our  own  reason.  These  men  felt  this,  and  could  not 
account  for  their  own  misgivings." 

"  Just  so,  Lilian,  that  is  the  philosophy  of  it,  I  doubt  not.  I 
could  not  help  laughing  though  in  my  sleeve  at  the  way  you  flut- 
tered round  me,  love,  like  a  fascinated  bird.  I  can  scarcely 
account  for  your  stupidity  on  this  occasion,  but  it  gave  me  fresh 
confidence." 

"  Oh,  who  could  dream  of  such  a  disguise  ?  It  seems  so  daring, 
taken  from  life  as  it  was,  and  so  wonderfully  perfect.  You  see  it 
baffled  even  the  detectives." 

"  Yes,  but  you,  Lily,  who  know  every  turn  of  me  ;  it  was 
passing  strange  that  you  should  be  deceived.  I  begin  to  feel  like 
the  little  woman,  of  whom  the  legend  says  that  the  peddler  '  cut 
her  petticoats  up  to  her  knees,'  whereupon  she  lost  all  confidence 
in  her  own  identity." 

"  Your  little  dog  barked  at  you,  grandfather,  and  you  question, 


fHK  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.  47 

is  this  I  ?   Yery  complimentary  truly."     He  laughed  ;  in  another 
moment  deep  gloom  covered  his  countenance. 

* 

"  A  truce  with  this  nonsense,  dearest,  -we  must  part !  It  wears 
on  to  ten  o'clock,  I  see  by  this  timepiece.  Farewell,  darling, 
pray  for  me,"  he  whispered,  and  he  drew  me  convulsively  to  his 
heart.  "  You,  too,  Camilla — noble,  injured  wife — farewell 1" 
and  he  extended  his  hand  to  her  timidly.  She  folded  hers,  and 
turned  weeping  away  in  silence. 

"  Will  you  not  speak  to  me,  Camilla,  even  to  wish  me  well,  on 
this  last,  last  occasion  ;  perhaps — God  only  knows — we  may  never 
meet  again,  Camilla?  It  might  be  a  satisfaction  to  you  to 
remember  that  we  parted  friends."  He  paused,  waiting  vainly 
for  a  reply. 

"  Go  then,"  he  said,  "  in  mercy  go,"  seeing  that  she  remained 
implacable,  yet  deeply  afflicted.  "  Do  not  unman  me  now,  unless 
indeed  you  wish  that  the  hangman's  hand  should  nestle  here  " 
And  he  grasped  his  slender  throat  with  a  bitter  laugh. 

"  Quintil,  a  purse  of  gold — nothing  else  will  answer  my  need 
so  well  just  now — and  in  thirty  days  at  latest  it  shall  be  returned 
to  you.  And  now  leave  me,  all,  save  Dr.  Quintil.  Food,  rai- 
ment, and  money,  he  will  provide  them  all.  Go,"  he  continued, 
as  we  still  lingered,  uncertain  how  to  proceed,  "  believe  me,  it  is 
best  that  I  should  be  alone.  As  for  the  four  trampers  without. 
they  do  not  cost  me  the  shadow  of  an  anxiety." 

And  as  he  spoke,  he  waved  his  hand  toward  the  hall  door,  a& 
if  dispelling  a  mere  figment  of  the  imagination,  adding,  with  a 
laugh  : 

"  We  shall  know  how  to  deal  with  them,  eh,  Quintil  I" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF  BOUVERIE. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WE  left  him,  in  what  anguish  of  heart  can  better  be  conjec- 
tured than  described.  Yet  we  knew  that  the  desperate  course 
before  him,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  the  only  one  that  remained 
for  him  to  adopt.  The  fear  of  bloodshed  was  uppermost  with  me. 
I  listened  through  the  night  for  those  sounds  of  conflict  and 
strife,  that  I  feared  must  usher  in  any  attempt  of  his  to  leave  the 
mansion.  But  all  was  quiet,  and  in  the  morning  we  heard  with 
great  relief  that  he  was  gone. 

Dr.  Quintil  told  us  afterward,  that  on  Hernshaw's  reappearance 
at  daylight,  the  men  he  had  left  hi  charge  of  the  house  presented 
themselves  before  him,  with  some  improbable  story  of  having 
been  beguiled  into  a  cellar  by  an  old,  deaf  woman,  who  offered 
them  hot  coffee,  "just  at  the  cold  turn  of  the  night,"  as  one  of 
them  expressed  it,  and  confessed  that  one  after  the  other  they  had 
availed  themselves  of  her  offer,  and  afterward  fallen  asleep,  each 
at  his  separate  post,  feeling  very  "  strange  and  drowsy  like  ;" 
"  but  the  truth  is,  I  imagine,"  said  Dr.  Quintil,  with  a  quaint 
Bmile,  "  the  wretches  were  probably  drunk,  and  in  order  to 
shield  themselves,  assigned  to  Dame  McCormick  a  part  she  had 
scarcely  sagacity  enough  to  play,  that  of  a  siren  and  skillful 
chemist." 

"  But  you  know  all  about  it,"  said  my  grandmother  ;  "  you 
can  tell  us  exactly  how  it  was,  if  you  choose." 

"It  is  one  of  those  mysteries  that  can  never  be  cleared  up," 
said  Dr.  Quintil  gravely,  "  but  certainly  preferable  to  bloodshed 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  49 

in  any  case.  Mr.  Bouverie  had  possessed  himself  of  my  pistol, 
and  could  not  have  been  deterred  from  using  it,  had  not  pacific 
measures  been  adopted.  Jasper  will  probably  bring  us  informa- 
tion on  his  return  of  his  safety." 

In  this  hope  the  day  wore  on.  In  the  evening  Jasper  came, 
bringing  back  the  letter  my  grandmother  had  written  to  Bishop 
Clare — the  news  of  whose  absence  from  home  fell  like  lead  on  our 
hearts. 

He  had  waited  for  Bianca,  who  had  gone  to  St.  Stephen's 
early  in  the  morning,  for  the  purpose  of  interring  Fabius — and 
whose  nervous  condition  required  assistance — and  as  "  Violet 
Fane  "  was  lame  from  over-exertion,  he  had  left  her  in  Croften, 
and  taken  his  place  by  Bianca's  side  in  the  returning  vehicle,  in 
which  Pat  McCormick  had  driven  her  away  hi  the  morning. 

"  And  where  is  Pat  ?"  asked  my  grandmother.  "  Did  he  not 
return  with  you  ?" 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,"  wrote  Jasper  ;  "  that  Hernshaw,  with  a 
sagacity  worthy  of  a  better  cause,  has  possessed  himself  of  this 
knavish  fool.  This  evening,  when  we  reached  Croften,  we  found 
him  waiting  for  us,  evidently.  He  took  Patrick  aside  in  my 
absence,  and  I  have  little  doubt  bribed  him  to  undertake  the  part 
of  guide  to  a  party  of  scouts,  going  out  in  search  of  Mister 
Bouverie.  I  did  not  know  of  this  at  the  time,  having  stopped  to 
speak  with  Father  Conrad,  who  had  just  returned  hi  the  Maple- 
ton  stage — and  to  explain  to  him  as  well  as  I  could,  the  necessity 
of  his  silence  hi  this  matter. 

"  When  I  approached  the  buggy  (having  by  this  tune  determined 
to  take  my  place  in  it,  and  make  Pat  stay  at  Croften  with  Violet 
Fane,  until  I  could  return  for  her,  or  he  could  lead  her  home)  he 
had  disappeared  ;  out  not  without  remonstrance  from  Bianca. 


50  THE   HOUSEHOLD    CiF    BOUVERIE. 

She  had  urged  him  not  to  accompany  Hernshaw,  threatening, 
and  dissuading  him  by  turns  from  pursuing  this  treacherous 
course,  and  for  all  answer,  he  had  rolled  his  goggle  eyes  at  her — 
and  drawing  from  his  bosom  a  worn  red  morocco  ball  (attached 
to  his  neck  by  a  leather  guard-chain)  he  had  pressed  it  reverently 
to  his  lips — then  dropped  it  back  into  its  hiding-place.  She  does 
not  know  what  to  make  of  this  piece  of  torn-foolery  ;  nor  do  I." 

"  To  me,  it  gives  some  faint  re-assurance,"  I  said  ;  and  I 
related  as  briefly  is  I  could  the  occurrences  connected  with  the 
"  Bible-ball,"  a?  he  had  called  my  "  lively  bouncer,"  the  subject 
of  such  ardent  admiration  on  his  part.  But  for  my  knowledge 
of  his  avarice  and  hoarding  propensities,  I  should  have  wondered 
at  the  preservation  of  the  plaything  he  had  coveted — a  mere  relic 
now  of  childish  tastes.  Alas  !  these  very  qualities  aroused  equal 
anxiety  as  to  the  motives  which  had  influenced  him  to  follow 
Hernshaw.  What  dependence,  after  all,  could  be  placed  on  the 
consistency  of  this  poor  half-saved  creature  ?  what  reasonable  hope 
based  on  his  fidelity  ? 

My  strongest  trust  in  his  failure  to  identify  him,  grew  out 
of  the  reflection,  that  he  had  seen  my  grandfather,  both  imper- 
fectly and  casually  ;  but  this,  after  all,  was  a  slender  hope,  on 
which  to  hang  so  important  an  issue. 

"  I  will  go  myself,  said  Dr.  Quintil,  this  very  night  to  St. 
Stephen's  (perhaps  much  further)  and  ascertain  the  truth,  if  pos- 
sible. Have  the  horse  you  drove  fed  and  watered,  Jasper — or, 
do  it  yourself,  my  boy,  in  the  absence  of  all  assistance — and 
hitch  him  to  the  buggy.  Bid  Dame  McCormick  give  us  an  early 
Bupper,  and  I  will  go  to  Croften  before  bed-time,  and  reach  St. 
Stephen's  before  midnight.  I  cannot  doubt  that  Mr.  Bouverie  i3 
there.  Old  Christina  would  receive  him,  and  conceal  him—  '-even 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OJ    BOUVERIE.  51 

in  her  master's  absence,  she  had  known  him  always,  she  would 
rejoice  in  his  safety  ;  but  whether  he  is  safe  for  more  than  a  day 
or  two,  even  in  the  bishop's  house,  I  doubt.  If  not,  I  must  as- 
sist him  as  well  as  I  can  to  make  his  way  to  the  nearest  seaport, 
and,  in  anticipation  of  such  a  necessity,  put  me  up  a  valise  full  of 
linen,  Lilian,  love,  both  for  myself  and  him  !" 

The  needful  arrangements  were  made  as  speedily  as  possible, 
and  in  the  twilight  Dr.  Quintil  departed,  cheering  us  to  the  last 
"with  hopeful  suggestions,  and  sanguine  anticipations  ;  yet,  leaving 
us,  after  all,  infinitely  dispirited  and  depressed,  as  we  looked  in 
the  face  the  array  of  facts  before  us. 

The  conduct  of  Pat  McCormick  (poor  idiot  as  he  was)  was  the 
last  drop  that  made  our  cup  run  over — for  he  formed,  after  all, 
an  integral  part  of  our  isolated  household,  and  was  bound  to  us 
by  every  tie  of  gratitude  and  long  association,  if  not  of  affection. 
It  was  vain,  however,  in  the  extreme  deafness  of  the  dame,  and 
our  own  helplessness  in  this  case,  to  lift  up  our  voices  and  reveal 
his  treachery  and  our  suspicions.  Strangely  enough,  she  did  not 
seem  to  miss  him,  and  we  came  to  a  half-conclusion,  that  she  was 
not  unacquainted  with  his  proceedings. 

"  I  never  liked  her,"  said  my  grandmother,  "  she  is  intimately 
connected  with  my  sorrow  and  early  wrong,  yet  I  did  believe  she 
would  die  a  martyr's  death  rather  than  lend  herself  to  injure  a 
Bouverie,  one  of  a  race  she  idolized." 

•     •  \ 

We  were  surprised  to  see  Dr.  Quintil  alight  from  the  buggy  he 
had  driven  away,  two  days  after  his  departure  ;  still  more  surprised 
to  see  that  he  was  accompanied  by  Patrick  McCormick,  who,  in 
his  usual  capacity  of  hostler,  took  charge  of  the  horse  at  once, 
and  disappeared  into  the  region  of  the  stables,  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred  to  interrupt  the  customary  discharge  of  his  duties. 


52  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

Dr.  Quintil  could  give  us  no  satisfaction  on  the  subject  ever 
present  to  our  thoughts.  Mr.  Bouverie  had  not  reached  the 
house  of  Bishop  Clare,  whose  absence  it  was  now  ascertained 
would  be  of  some  weeks'  duration,  nor  had  he  been  heard  of  or 
seen  by  any  one  able  or  willing  to  impart  such  knowledge,  or 
of  whom  such  inquiry  could  with  propriety  be  made. 

The  police,  still  scouring  the  country,  had  failed  to  discover  any 
traces  of  his  presence,  and  had  dropped  Pat  McCormick  as  an 
incumbrance,  after  having  been  misled  by  him  in  several  instances, 
and  even  lost  in  the  paupau  jungle  for  a  whole  day,  time  of 
course  irretrievably  wasted.  So,  whether  intentionally  or  not, 
Patrick  had  been  of  service  to  us  it  seemed  ;  and  as  responsibility 
seemed  out  of  the  question  in  his  case,  it  was  thought  best  to 
make  no  allusion  to  the  past,  .and  suffer  him  to  fall  into  the  estab- 
lished routine  of  duty  again  without  remark. 

"  I  found  him  at  Croften  on  my  return,"  said  Dr.  Quintil, 
"  lounging  by  the  tavern  pump,  with  the  usual  expression  of  vacuity 
on  his  face,  which  gave  way  to  something  like  pleasure  when  he 
saw  me  approaching.  Without  any  explanation  of  his  conduct 
(poor  wretch,  could  he  make  one  were  he  to  try  ?)  he  advanced 
and  loosened  the  reins  of  my  horse,  and  gave  him  water  ;  then 
came  to  me,  with  a  proposition  to  drive  me  home,  as  his  '  mammy ' 
would  be  wanting  him  he  reckoned,  and  maybe  '  Miss  Lilian.' 

"  I  did  not  question  him  then,  but  as  soon  as  we  left  Croften, 
I  plied  him  as  skillfully  as  I  knew  how,  with  all  manner  of  interroga- 
tories. To  not  one  of  these  did  I  receive  anything  like  a  satisfactory 
or  direct  answer  ;  and  yet  the  impression  is  strong  in  my  mind  that 
he  had  seen  Mr.  Bouverie,  and  knows  perhaps  the  place  of  his  con- 
cealment. But,  after  all,  I  may  be  mistaken  in  my  notion  of  his 
instinctive  fidelity.  I  find  myself  catching  at  straws  all  the  time." 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVEKIE.  53 

"  He  will  suffer  ;  he  has  suffered  already  from  cold,  fatigue, 
and  hunger  even — he  so  frail,  so  little  used  to  hardship,  so  fond 
of  luxury  !  Would  that  the  worst  were  over,  and  that  I  knew 
his  fate  :  or,  better  still,  that  the  grave  contained  us  both  1"  and 
my  grandmother  wrung  her  hands  bitterly. 

"  Be  patient,  madam,  and  nerve  yourself  to  bear  whatever  may 
betide.  You  have  at  all  events  the  consciousness  of  duty  ren- 
dered. This  is  but  the  end  of  the  beginning  !" 

"  I  will  try  my  skill  as  inquisitor,"  I  thought,  as  after  this  con- 
versation I  left  the  room  in  search  of  Patrick,  by  this  time 
released  from  his  stable  duties,  and  probably  subsiding  into  his 
softer  vocation  of  kitchen  help  or  scullion. 

I  was  not  incorrect  in  my  estimate  of  time  and  occupation  as 
applied  to  him.  I  found  him  seated  by  the  kitchen  hearth,  eating 
a  late  breakfast  (it  was  almost  our  dinner-tune),  which  he  was 
bedewing  or  rather  salting  with  his  tears. 

He  dried  his  red,  preposterous  eyes  with  the  corner  of  a 
blue  rag,  protruding  from  his  pocket,  as  he  saw  me  standing 
before  him,  and  attempted  to  rise,  still  clasping  his  plate  on  his 
knees. 

"  Sit  down,  Pat,"  I  said,  "  as  you  are  eating,  and  never  mind 
your  bow  this  time." 

He  obeyed  me  silently,  while  the  dame,  whose  back  was  turned 
to  me,  and  who  was  unconscious  of  my  presence,  continued  to 
blaze  away  at  him,  while  she  washed  her  potatoes. 

"  And  if  you  open  your  mouth  to  a  living  sowl,  as  much  as  to 
the  misthress  herself,  I  will  pin  your  tongue  to  the  biscuit-board 
and  keep  it  there  this  time  till  the  bishop  comes.  'Twas  me  that 
get  Herushaw  after  you,  and  if  they  knowed  it,  the  poor,  onesided 
ereathures  that  they  are,  they'd  be  thinking  everything  but  the 


54  THE  .HOT!  BEHOLD   OF  BOUTEEIE. 

truth  ;  and  lie  to  pay  us  gowld,  too  !  What  would  it  seem  like  ? 
But  I  might  as  well  talk  to  the  owld  tom-cat  as  to  you,  or  to 
Father  Conrad  himself,  whei^  he  gets  to  the  apple  brandy.  Now 
mind,  Pat  McCormick,  what  I  have  said  to  you  this  day,  for  it 
isn't  after  repairing  it  I'll  be,  in  any  way  but  one.  Do  you  see 
this  ?"  and  she  drew  from  the  fireplace  a  red-hot  rod  of  iron  she 
had  been  heating  there,  the  remains  of  a  poker  probably,  and 
turned  holding  it  in  her  band  in  a  menacing  attitude  toward  her 
delinquent  kinsman. 

Poor  Pat  crouched.  "Oh!  don't,  mammy,  don't,"  he 
howled,  upsetting  his  precious  plate  in  his  terror,  and  breaking  it 
on  the  hearthstone,  then  clinging  wildly  to  me. 

"  Oh,  it  is  you,  Miss  Lilian  1"  said  the  hag,  in  a  deprecating 
way.  "  I  have  to  settle  with  Pat,  you  see,  for  moving  off  without 
lave  or  license,  you  know  ;  and  me  without  a  sowl  to  split  a 
stick  of  wood  for  me,  or  scratch  a  potatoe  for  two  long  days  ! 
If  the  misthress  don't  take  him  in  hand,  I  must,"  and  she  turned 
away,  again  muttering,  to  her  kitchen  table  and  vegetable 
duties. 

I  took  advantage  of  this  cessation  of  hostilities  to  open  my 
negotiation  with  Pat,  now  dolefully  collecting  his  scattered 
breakfast  from  the  hearthstone,  with  the  aid  of  a  scoop  made  of 
one  hand,  and  the  largest  fragment  of  his  coarse,  blue-edged 
plate,  and  blubbering  woefully  as  he  gathered  up  his  food. 

"  Don't  cry,  Pat,  it  isn't  manly,"  I  said  ;  "  you  know  you  iro 
1  policeman  now.  Didu't  you  go  out  with  Hernshaw  ?" 

A  pawky  smile  flitted  over  his  purple  countenance,  and  the 
blue  rag  was  again  in  requisition. 

"Any  way,  I  corned  back  without  him,  if  I  did  follow  after 
him  a  while,"  he  replied,  in  an  apologetic  tone. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  55 

"I  know  that,"  I  said,  "and  we  are  all  glad  to  get  you  back 
again.  But,  Pat,  where  did  you  leave  the  master  ?  You  under- 
stand me,  Pat — the  pretty  old  play-actor  man  you  told  me  about 
once,  that  lived  up-stairs?"  I  waited  breathlessly  for  his  long 
delayed  reply. 

"  What  would  you  give  me  to  tell  you  ?"  he  asked  at  last,  wall- 
ing his  eyes  at  me  awfully,  after  a  solemn  pause,  and  afterward 
standing  perfectly  mute  before  me,  with  his  hands  clasped,  and 
those  animated  gooseberries  of  his  fixed  hypocritically  on  the 
floor. 

"  Oh,  anything,  Pat — anything  in  the  world — -just  name  your 
price,"  I  answered,  eagerly. 

"  There  is  a  heap  of  things  you  wouldn't  give  me  to  save  life  ; 
you  just  talk  this  way,  Miss  Lilian,  to  fool  me,  'cause  everybody 
calls  me  simple,  but  my  pay  has  to  come  first." 

"  Certainly,  Pat,  certainly,"  I  broke  in,  all  impatience.  "  Just 
say  what  you  require,  and  I  think  I  can  promise  it  shall  be 
yours." 

"  Will  you  give  me  the  picture  that  hangs  over  your  bed,  of 
the  old  saint-lady  ?"  he  asked,  in  solemn  accents,  glancing  at  me 
slily.  He  alluded  to  the  portrait  of  my  Grandmother  De  Courcy, 
I  knew. 

"Anything  else,  Pat — anything  else." 

"  Will  you  give  me  your  little  chest,  made  of  the  blessed  cedar 
lined  with  white  velvet,  and  full  of  pretty  things  ?" 

"  Pat,  is  there  nothing  else  you  want  ?  and  how  on  earth  do  you 
see  these  things  ?" 

"  I  bores  holes  in  the  window  shutters,  and  peeps  of  nights, 
when  the  candles  are  burning,  and  I  sees  everything,"  said  th*-. 
wretch,  with  a  leering  self-complacency.  "  But  I  know'd  you  was 


56  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

only  fooling  me,  Miss  Lilian— I  know'd  that,  all  the  time  !"  And 
he  shook  his  head  drearily. 

"  No,  Pat,  I  was  not  fooling  you,  nor  thinking  of  such  baseness, 
but  you  ask  impossible  things  ;  think  of  something  else,"  I  said, 
suppressing,  as  well  as  I  could,  my  impatience,  and  my  feeling  of 
intense  provocation. 

"  That  little  ring  on  your  finger  will  do  me  to  put  on  my  guard- 
chain,"  he  said,  pointing  to  the  leather  string  around  his  neck, 
and  eyeing  invidiously  the  emerald  hoop  Jasper  had  given  me  re- 
cently, while  he  smiled  furtively — perhaps  at  the  certainty  he  felt 
that  I  would  refuse  him  again. 

"  I  must  make  my  own  terms  with  you,  Pat,  I  see,"  I  answered, 
provoked  almost  beyond  endurance  ;  "  you  are  too  exacting.  See 
here,  you  shall  have  this  crimson  scarf,"  unwinding  one  from  my 
neck,  "  and  a  new  breastpin,  and  a  silk  pocket-handkerchief  for 
Sundays,  and  a  great  picture-book,  full  of  saints  and  martyrs,  and 
a  whole  box  of  raisins  out  of  the  store-room,  and  money  as  well, 
if  you  will  only  tell  me,  Pat — and  cross  your  heart  for  the  truth — 
where  you  left  my  precious  grandfather  !" 

He  hesitated.  I  thought  his  avarice  would  overcome  his  fear 
of  the  dame,  and  waited  anxiously  for  his  decision. 

"  Will  you  let  me  kiss  your  foot  besides,  if  I  tell  you  what  I 
know,  Miss  Lilian?"  asked  the  wretch,  with  imperturbable  gravity. 
Had  he  said  my  hand,  I  think  I  would  have  consented,  in  the 
agony  of  my  anxiety.  What  was  there,  after  all,  more  than  the 
hand-licking  of  a  dog,  hi  this  whim  of  an  idiot — scarcely  a  human 
being? 

"  Tell  me  first,  Pat,"  I  said,  faintly. 

"A  bargain's  a  bargain,  and  as  good  for  me  as  foi  you — you 
want  to  fool  me  again.  I  know'd  you  did,  all  the  time  I" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  57 

"  I  will  go  and  get  you  all  I  promised,  and  return,"  I  said, 
knowing  the  matters  mentioned  were  at  hand.  "  Be  prepared  to 
tell  me  the  truth — nothing  else  will  answer.  Stay  here  until  I 
come  again — I  shall  be  back  soon,"  and  I  turned  from  him. 

"  I  will  trust  you  for  them  articles,  Miss  Lilian,  and  tell  you 
all  I  know  now,  if  you  will  let  me  kiss  yoar  foot,  before  you  go. 
Mammy  says  to  kiss  a  lady's  slipper,  with  her  foot  in  it,  cures  the 
ring-worm,"  and  the  monster  grinned,  pointing,  at  the  same  time, 
to  a  round  red  blotch  on  his  chin. 

"  There,  then  1" — I  said,  extending  my  foot  impatiently;  "make 
haste,  and  tell  me  everything." 

He  knelt  down,  and,  after  putting  his  hands  for  a  moment  to 
his  eyes,  and  mumbling  a  few  unintelligible  words,  he  extended 
them  like  wings,  in  the  most  ludicrously  provoking  manner,  and, 
bending  over  it,  kissed  my  foot  as  reverently  as  if  it  had  been  a 
saint's  relic. 

" Speak,  speak  1"  I  said,  stamping  impatiently,  "as  he  delibe- 
rately rose,  and  stood  before  me.  "  Tell  me  all  you  know  of  the 
absent — come,  Pat,  begin.  Where  is  my  dear  grandfather?" 
How  I  loathed  the  wretch  by  this  time  ! 

"  I  never  know'd  you  had  one,"  he  replied,  with  that  peculiar 
drawl  of  his,  assumed,  I  believe,  in  his  idiotic  cunning,  whenever 
it  answered  his  purpose  best,  at  the  same  t:me  glaring  upon  me 
with  his  vacant  eyes,  like  some  bewildered  owl  just  brought  out 
of  darkness. 

"Tell  me  whatever  you  know,"  I  rejoined,  commanding  myself 
as  well  as  I  could,  "about  the  old  play-actor  man  that  lived  up- 
stairs— the  man  that  wore  the  crimson  gown,  that  you  took  for 
the  Pope — don't  you  remember,  Pat  ?  The  man  you  went  with 
Hernshaw  to  catch  ?  You  saw  him,  Pat,  face  to  face — I  knotf 


58  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEEIE. 

you  did — where  is  he  ?  Speak,  boy,  speak  1"  and,  as  I  saw  the 
stolid  shadow  deepening  over  his  imbecile  face,  as  if  what  little 
intellect  he  had  was  creeping  or  being  driven  out  of  sight,  the 
provocation  of  the  moment,  and  the  wish  to  rouse  him  up  to  reply 
to  me,  caused  me  to  seize  his  shoulder,  and  shake  him  sharply. 
He  uttered  a  hideous  cry — such  a  cry  as  a  sloth  might  render  forth, 
when,  swinging  slowly  from  limb  to  limb  of  a  Brazilian  forest,  the 
apprehending  hand  of  the  traveller  is  suddenly  laid  upon  him — a 
cry  of  mingled  fear,  and  helplessness,  and  defiance — not  of  pain. 

The  shrill  and  unnatural  sound  pierced  the  dull  ear  of  Dame 
McCormick  ;  she  turned  full  upon  me  just  as  I  was  putting  forth 
my  hand  to  grasp  him  again,  to  try,  this  tune,  if  possible,  to  stop 
his  yells. 

"  Wretch  I"  I  said,  "  if  you  don't  stop  screechipg,  and  reveal 
instantly  what  you  promised  to  tell  me,  I  will  have  you  beaten. 
You  shall  speak  I" 

"  I  didn't  promise  nothing  but  what  I  know'd,"  he  said,  sud- 
denly checking  his  cries.  "  And  I  don't  know  nothing,  and  I 
can't  make  up  anything,"  he  whimpered,  with  a  piteous  expres- 
sion. "  Oh  !  Lordy,  the  witches  are  after  me  again  !  Mammy, 
mammy,"  elevating  his  voice,  "  save  me  !" 

"  You  had  better  lit  that  boy  alone,  Miss  Lilian  !"  blazed  out 
the  deaf  old  virago,  now  standing  with  her  arms  akimbo,  glaring 
fiercely  at  me.  "  He  is  none  of  your  nagur  to  be  shaked  and 
twitted  ef  he  is  simple,  and  it's  what  your  mother  would  niver 
have  done,  little  nor  big  ;  but  you're  a  Byrne  every  inch  of  you  : 
there's  no  Bouverie  blood  in  you,  and  I  always  said  so,  for  true 
blood  will  speak  and  tell  its  own  tale,  and  you  ought  to  know  ty 
this  time  " 

But  I  fled  before  the  gathering  storm,  and  was  glad  to  escape 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  59 

from  lightning  as  well  as  thunder,  scarcely  repressing  a  smile, 
sadly  provoked  as  I  was,  however,  when  I  reflected  that  Pat 
bad  confounded  me  with  the  supernatural  torturers  of  his  exist- 
ence, and  called  his  Sycorax  to  the  rescue. 

"  I  should  bear  the  name  of  '  Cutty  Sark,'  if  I  were  to  tell 
this,"  I  thought,  "for  a  month  at  least,  Jasper  is  such  a  tease. 
So  considering  the  failure,  and  the  mortification,  and  the  absolute 
supremacy  of  Pat's  cunning  over  my  intelligence,  I  think  I  had 
as  well  keep  the  whole  matter  to  myself." 

I  need  not  say  that  from  this  tune  Pat  was  no  favorite  of 
mine,  and  that  whatever  repugnance  I  had  felt  to  him  before, 
was  increased,  by  his  deceit  and  impertinence,  tenfold.  I  ignored 
him  altogether,  a  matter  which  seemed  to  escape  his  attention,  for 
nothing  could  exceed  his  absurd  obsequiousness  around  my  chair,  or 
about  my  plate,  or  whenever  comfort  of  mine  was  concerned.  My 
growing  distrust  of  him  was  confirmed,  when,  a  week  or  two  later, 
Bianca  detected  him  stealing,  and  through  this  detection  gamed 
insight  into  the  systematic  pilfering  which  had  been  going  on  in 
the  pantry  and  store-room,  ever  since  Pat  McCormick  was  ad- 
mitted as  a  table  attendant. 

He  bore  an  unblushing  front,  however,  under  the  shame  of  this 
exposure,  or  perhaps  his  imperfect  nature  scarcely  conceived  the 
import  of  such  a  word.  Disgusted  as  I  was  with  him,  I  could 
hardly  repress  a  smile  occasionally,  at  the  absurd  earnestnesa 
with  which  he  performed  his  functions,  and  the  self-complacency 
of  his  whole  demeanor.  He  could  not  by  any  admonition  be 
prevented  from  breaking  repeatedly  into  the  conversation,  and 
expressing  his  own  very  peculiar  opinions  on  certain  subjects.  He 
had  a  romantic  project  on  hand,  often  repeated  to  my  extreme 

discomfiture,  of  finding  out  and  exterminating  the  cat,  which,  iu 
19 


00  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

accordance  with  the  nursery  legend  to  that  effect,  he  believed  to 
have  possessed  herself  of  and  eloped  with  Jasper's  tongue  ;  and 
he  persisted  in  blowing  his  breath  on  the  grey  streak  in  my  grand- 
mother's hair,  and  even  trying  to  brush  it  off  with  his  napkin,  as 
he  stood  in  his  white-aproned  dignity  behind  her  chair,  under  the 
deeply-rooted  impression  that  it  was  a  colony  of  ashes  which  he 
held  it  his  duty  to  disperse.  When  Dr.  Quintil  said  grace,  his 
closed  eyes  and  moving  lips,  and  overdone  devoutness  were  irre- 
sistibly ridiculous,  and  at  such  tunes  he  held  his  salver  clasped  to 
his  breast,  like  a  shield  of  defence  against  the  arrows  of  the  evil 
one,  while  his  horse-shoe  mouth  expressed  a  strange  mixture  of 
sanctity  and  silliness. 

My  grandmother  bore  with  surprising  equanimity  his  alternate 
mistakes  and  absurdities.  Anything  was  better  to  her  than  the 
presence  of  strangers,  and  respect  for  Bianca's  recent  grief,  for- 
bade her  attendance  at  the  table. 

Indeed,  at  such  a  tune  of  absorbing  anxiety,  details  were  over- 
looked or  forgotten,  and  discomfort  placidly  submitted  to,  which, 
at  any  other,  would  have  been  fruitful  cause  for  irritation.  For 
still  the  days  rolled  by,  and  still  there  came  no  tidings  of  the 
fugitive,  hi  whom  so  many  hearts  were  bound,  each  in  its  separate 
fashion  of  love,  pity,  or  interest 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

10  sm>.ad-<4     ov^^f  .'K-vi,--,,;,- 


CHAPTER  V. 


YET,  as  far  as  she  was  able,  the  mistress  of  Bouverie  extended 
her  care,  as  usual,  over  all  necessary  provisions  for  the  comfort 
and  welfare  of  those  around  her.  Her  very  flowers  were  not 
wholly  forgotten.  I  remember  that  she  desired  me  to  go  and 
superintend  Pat  in  the  task  of  laying  and  pegging  down  her  roses, 
as  the  clouds  of  November  gathered  over  the  heavens,  and 
threatened  to  cover  the  earth  with  snow,  succeeded  probably  by 
hard  frost. 

"  We  shall  lose  them  else,  Lilian,  and  we  have  no  one  to  lift 
them  now,"  she  said. 

This  task,  a  delicate  one,  as  all  flower-fanciers  know,  had 
devolved  yearly  on  Smith,  who,  although  still  an  occupant  of  the 
cottage,  was  no  longer  in  my  grandmother's  employment.  Some 
unexpired  contract  gave  him  the  right  to  remain  there  until 
Christmas  ;  but  Dr.  Quintil  had  sternly  forbidden  him  to  show  his 
face  on  the  precincts  of  Bouverie  again,  beyond  his  own  inclosure, 
an  edict  obeyed  as  strictly,  as  he  knew  it  would  have  been 
enforced. 

In  compliance  with  my  grandmother's  request,  I  approached 
the  flower-beds  on  which  Pat  was  working,  and  after  giving  him 
directions,  stood  watching  him,  as  he  threw  the  rich  leaf-mold 
lightly  over  the  pegged-down  trailing  limbs  of  the  still  green 
Solfaterre  and  Augusta  roses,  seldom  naked  in  our  half-southern 
clime  until  January,  even  when  exposed  to  the  utmost  rigors  of 


(J2  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

the  season.  This  promised,  however,  to  be  one  of  unusual  gloom 
and  severity. 

The  sternness  of  my  manner  seemed  to  force  conviction  on  his 
dull  faculties  that  I  was  displeased  with  him  ;  and  his  penitential 
glances  betrayed  that  memory  was  at  work  to  reproduce  the 
cause.  He  sought  in  vain  to  beguile  my  icy  mood  at  first,  by 
skillful  allusions  to  my  favorite  flowers. 

"  See,  Miss  Lilian,  the  white  lilies  is  peeping  up  again  !  I 
wonder  will  they  put  on  their  white  foolscaps  in  snow-time,  like 
the  bad  school-boys  ?  They  turns  their  foolscaps  upside  down, 
Miss  Lilian,  to  catch  the  rain  and  sunshine — that's  all  the  same  as 
meat  and  drink  to  them,  Dr.  Quintil  says." 

"  Be  quiet,  Pat,  and  proceed  with  your  work.  I  have  nothing 
to  say  to  you." 

"  Here's  a  double  violet,  Miss  Lilian — must  I  cover  that  too  ? 
Maybe  you'd  like  to  pull  the  flowers  first,  they  smells  so  good,  and 
there  are  plenty  under  the  leaves,  all  hid  away,  like  pritty  little 
children  under  their  mother's  apron.  I  have  seed  'em  when  -I 
came  along  hide  just  so  ;  and  oh,  Miss  Lilian,  here's  a  slip  of 
sweet-smelling  stuff  I  planted  this  spring,  hid  away  under  the  rose- 
bush, as  green  as  grass,  with  a  little  weed  growing  out  of  it — 
smell  it,  Miss  Lilian." 

He  referred  to  a  sprig  of  lemon  verbena,  a  leaf  of  which  he  now 
extended  to  me  somewhat  timidly — unnoticed,  of  course. 

"  Cats  love  to  smell  this,"  he  said,  "  as  well  as  humans  ;  they 
goes  all  around  the  flower-beds  hunting  it,  and  sniffing  it,  like 
ladies.  They  are  mighty  genteel  things,  any  way,  cats  is,  Miss 
Lilian,  and  keeps  off  witches,"  he  said,  dropping  his  voice,  with  an 
expression  of  grotesque  awe. 

This  last  theory  about  cats  was  entirely  new  to  me,  though  I 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEEIE.  63 

recognized  the  truth  of  Pat's  first  description  of  their  habits,  and 
had  laughed  more  than  once  at  the  quaint  affectation  of  their  odor- 
seeking  fastidiousness. 

"  Pat,  once  for  all,  you  must  not  dare  to  speak  to  me  at  all, 
after  your  shameful  behavior,  or  Dr.  Quintil  shall  know  it,"  I  said. 
"  Work  in  silence,  sir  !" 

He  continued  for  some  time  to  spade  diligently,  after  this  de- 
cided rebuff,  apparently  humiliated  by  my  treatment,  and  keeping 
his  eyes  steadily  fixed  on  the  ground. 

At  length,  as  if  determined  to  dare  all  hi  one  more  venture,  he 
thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and,  drawing  out  a  huge  ring,  ex- 
tended it  toward  me,  between  his  first  finger  and  thumb,  as  deli- 
cately as  a  dancing-master  could  have  done,  with  the  words,  "Miss 
Lilian,  will  you  trade  ?" 

I  glanced  involuntarily  at  the  ring  he  held,  as  he  spoke,  and,  in 
another  moment,  had  snatched  it  from  his  fingers,  and  was  eagerly 
examining  it.  I  knew  at  once  it  was  my  grandfather's — I  had 
seen  it,  on  more  than  one  occasion,  lying  on  his  secretary,  and 
could  not  be  mistaken.  It  had  contained  an  onyx  seal,  and,  in 
the  ulterior,  I  now  found  an  inscription  confirming  my  suspicions' 
Engraven  in  fine  Roman  characters  were  the  words  : 

"THE  CZAR  TO  BOUVEBIE." 

"  Boy,  where  did  you  get  this  ring  ?  Pat,  answer  me,  did  he 
send  it  to  me  by  you  ?  Is  it  a  sign  of  distress  or  safety  ?  Oh, 
God  !  I  wish  I  knew  1"  and  in  my  sorrowful  uncertainty  the  tears 
rolled  over  my  cheeks. 

"  I  found  it  in  the  ash-pit,  Miss  Lilian,"  he  said,  speaking  with 
more  intelligence  than  usual,  and  apparently  humanized  by  my 
distress.  "I  thought  you  would  like  to  have  it,  because  it  be- 


64  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  -BOUVEKIE. 

longed  to  him,"  and  he  glanced  at  the  circular  hall  and  dome- 
now  undergoing  repairs — with  as  much  significance  as  he  could 
manage  to  throw  into  his  scattered  physiognomy. 

It  was  a  massive  ring,  beautifully  chased  and  molded,  with  the 
double-headed  eagle  of  Russia  carved  on  each  side  of  the  large 
cavity  from  which  the  seal  had  disappeared. 

"  Where  is  the  seal,  boy,"  I  asked,  sternly,  "  that  fitted  this 
circle  when  you  found  it  ?  I  want  that,  also — it  was  very  wrong 
of  you  to  remove  it.  You  must  give  it  up,  Pat,  or  you  will  have 
to  be  punished,"  and  I  handed  him  the  ring. 

"  Do  you  think  I'm  a  thief,  Miss  Lilian  ?"  he  asked,  coloring 
violently,  and  struggling  for  a  moment,  as  if  with  feeling  he  was 
trying  to  repress.  I  had  not  anticipated  such  sensibility,  nor 
could  I  very  well  reconcile  it  with  his  recent  conduct  under  similar 
charges,  and  even  detection. 

"I  found  this  ring  where  I  told  you,  Miss  Lilian,  and  a  'finder 
is  as  good  as  an  owner,'  mammy  says  ;  and  I'll  hold  on  to  it,  if  you 
won't  trade,"  and  he  stuffed  it  again  into  his  pocket,  and  proceeded 
with  his  spading.  Not,  however,  without  glancing  at  me,  from 
time  to  time,  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  strategic  assumptions  of 
indifference. 

"  That  ring  is  neither  yours  nor  mine,  Pat.  It  belongs  right- 
fully now  to  your  mistress,"  I  said,  at  last ;  "  yet,  rather  than  give 
her  trouble  about  it,  I  will  trade  with  you,  as  you  call  it,  for  any- 
thing reasonable.  What  will  you  take  for  the  ring,  Pat  ?" 

"A  free  pardon,  Miss  Lilian,"  he  said,  humbly  again  extending 
it  toward  me. 

I  received  it  silently ;  then  reflecting  on  Dr.  Quintilian's  sus- 
picions and  my  own,  I  determined  to  make  one  more  effort  to 
gain  the  truth  from  the  simpleton. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  65 

"Pat,"  I  said,  "I  will  forgive  you  on  one  condition  only — for 
I  am  very  angry  with  you,  and  shall  always  remain  so,  unless  you 
agree  to  what  I  propose  ;  you  must  tell  me  al|,  everything,  about 

lfi 

the  man  you  called  a  king  when  you  saw  hna  upstairs  in  his 
crimson  gown.  The  master  of  Bouverie,  you  know — him  that 
went  away — you  must  tell  me  where  you  saw  him  last,  and  where 
you  left  him,  and  what  he  said  to  you  ;  if  you  want  to  save  his 
life,  you  must  do  this.  Then  you  shall  have  your  free  pardon, 
Pat — you  shall,  indeed,  and  a  great  deal  more." 

"  Don't  you  know  Dr.  Quintil  is  after  him  to  kill  him,  or  to  give 
him  up  to  them  officers  ?"  he  whispered,  rolling  his  eyes  frightfully, 
while  his  face  assumed  its  deepest  purple  hue. 

"  You  are  crazy,  Pat — absolutely  crazy  !  Dr.  Quintil,  on  the 
contrary,  would  die  to  save  him." 

"  He  is  just  fooling  you  and  the  mistress,  Miss  Lilian.  Didn't 
I  see  him  carrying  them  policemen  all  over  the  house  to  hunt  for 
him  ?  And  didn't  he  go  after  Hernshaw,  in  his'  buggy,  to  help 
him  find  the  master,  and  get  the  gowld  ?  Mammy  know'd  he 
always  hated  him,  and  now  he'll  never  rest  till  he  gives  him  up  to 
the  carrion-crows — that's  what  I  calls  'em  !" 

"  Tell  me,  then,  Pat,"  I  said,  as  calmly  as  I  could,  almost 
frantic  with  anxious  curiosity,  as  I  was,  yet  perceiving  the  utter 
inutility  of  reasoning  with  him  about  his  absurd  suspicions — im. 
movable,  like  other  figments  of  his  imperfect  brain.  "Tell  me, 
then,  what  you  do  know  about  him  !  I  love  him,  Pat — I'm  very 
unhappy  because  he  is  gone,  and  suffering,  perhaps.  And  I  will 
promise  you,  on  your  holy  cross,  not  to  tell  any  one  what  you  tell 
me,  except  my  grandmother." 

"  She  hates  him  too  !"  be  said,  with  his  simple  leer.  "Both  on 
'en?  hates  him  !  but  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know,  Miss  Lilian,  if  yon 


66  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

will  promise  to  believe  me,  and  never  ax  me  another  question 
while  you  live  " 

I  agreed  briefly  to  both  propositions,  preposterous  as  they  were; 
impossible,  in  one  sense. 

"  Don't  tell  nobody,  Miss  Lilian." 

"No,  indeed,  Pat,"  I  said,  my  heart  beating  wildly  in  my 
throat  with  anxiety  and  suspense.  "  Speak  ;  don't  keep  me 
waiting  ;"  and  in  my  agony  I  clasped  my  hands  almost  prayer- 
fully to  the  provoking  idiot,  who  had  played  so  cruelly  with  my 
feelings. 

"  Listen,  then,  Miss  Lilian  !" 

"  Boy,  I  am  listening  !" 

"  Well,  then,  if  I  must  speak,  I  must ;  but  I  mint  to  hould  my 
sacrit,"  he  said,  breaking  out  into  a  fierce  Irish  accent ;  as  he 
did  occasionally,  when  not  under  restraint. 

"  Whin  the  house-top  was  blow'd  up  he  flew  up  in  the  air,  and 
the  witches  resaved  him  in  their  arms,  and  he  is  safe  now  wid  the 
blessed  Vargin  herself.  That's  all,  Miss  Lilian  !" 

And  he  looked  at  me  with  an  expression  of  subtile  foolishness — 
if  such  a  thing  could  be.  Junius  Brutus  never  played  his  part 
better  ! 

It  was  more  than  I  could  bear. 

"  You  unmitigated  fool  ;  you  incorrigible,  preposterous  ape — • 
you  imp  in  human  form  !"  I  exclaimed,  in  an  uncontrollable  fit  of 
impatience  and  rage.  "  I  wish  it  was  no  sin  to  torture  flesh — I 
would  wring  this  secret,  if  secret  you  have,  from  you,  at  the  stake 
itself." 

He  did  not  understand  the  full  meaning  of  my  words,  evidently 
— for,  at  first,  a  flickering  smile  played  over  his  grotesque  features  ; 
hut,  as  he  read  the  import  of  my  angry  speech  in  my  stormy 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEBIE.  67 

countenance,  he  gave  way  to  a  fit  of  childish  llubbering — sitting 
down  finally,  and  covering  his  face  with  his  hands,  while  the  big 
tears  literally  tumbled  from  between  his  parted  fingers. 

The  exhibition  was  simply  disgusting  to  me  ;  at  another  time 
it  might  have  seemed  ridiculous,  touching  never  ! 

I  turned  coldly  away. 

"  Go  on  with  your  work,  boy,"  I  said,  sternly  ;  "  and  take 
this  to  pay  for  your  ring-finding  ;"  and  I  tossed  him  an  eagle,  I 
carried  about  me  as  a  pocket-piece. 

Looking  back  as  I  entered  the  house,  I  saw  him  still  sitting  on 
the  ground,  in  the  same  dejected  attitude. 

"  The  money  will  comfort  him,"  I  thought ;  "  and  make 
amends  for  all,  poor  avaricious  fool  !  He  knows  nothing,  that 's 
evident  ;  and,  like  many  of  his  betters,  affects  a  knowledge  he 
does  not  possess  as  a  means  of  power.  Yet,  how  completely  he 
has  baffled  and  fooled  me,  as  he  would  say  !  Ay,  to  the  very 
top  of  my  bent !" 

That  night  a  piece  of  gold  was  laid  under  my  plate,  at  ihe 
supper-table — an '  enigma  to  all,  save  Pat  and  myself — and  tht 
swollen  features  of  the  incubus  betrayed  traces  of  recent  grief, 
and  sullen  discontent. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTTVERIE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WHEN  we  were  alone  in  her  chamber,  I  related  to  my  grand« 
mother,  all  that  had  occurred  from  first  to  last  between  Pat 
McCormick  and  myself,  and  ended  by  giving  her  the  ring. 

She  received  it  with  evident  emotion.  "  Times  are  changed, 
Lilian,"  she  said,  "  since  the  greatest  monarch  of  his  day  placed 
this  ring  on  your  grandfather's  hand  with  his  own  royal  fingers, 
in  the  presence  of  his  court.  The  stone  that  occupied  that  vacant 
circle  there,  was  the  most  magnificent  diamond  my  eyes  ever 
rested  on.  Its  brilliancy  was  magnetic,  and  it  had  a  peculiarity, 
whether  from  some  flaw  or  intentional  sitting,  I  never  knew,  from 
which  it  derived  its  name  of  the  '  Gnome-Bye  I' " 

I  was  startled,  and  uttered  a  hasty  exclamation. 

"  Yes,  it  was  a  strange  name,"  she  pursued,  wholly  unconscious 
of  the  cause  of  my  amazement ;  "  but  had  you  seen  the  singularly 
perfect,  almost  human  eye  within,  from  which  issued  on  every 
side  small  glancing  rays  of  light — your  astonishment  would  have 
reached  its  climax.  It  was  the  most  exquisite  accident  (if  such  it 
were)  nature  ever  pleaded  guilty  to  ;  but  I  incline  to  the  belief, 
that  a  skillful  lapidary  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  optical  illusion — 
for  such  your  grandfather  seemed  to  consider  it — and  that  it  was 
a  mere  reflection  of  the  eye,  without  the  color  that  gazed  into  its 
depths." 

"  What  became  of  the  stone,  grandmother  ?"  I  asked,  sup 
pressing  my  own  experience,  with  regard  to  it. 

"  Your  grandfather  had  divested  it  of  its  setting,  and  replaced 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKEE.  69 

it  with  an  onyx  seal,  which  he  had  fitted  to  the  aperture.  I  am 
of  the  opinion  he  did  this  with  a  view  to  snch  an  emergency  as 
the  present — for  he  had  the  stone  in  his  vest-pocket  when  he  left 
us.  At  least  I  recognized  the  small  mother-of-pearl  box  set  with 
turquoise,  in  which  he  always  kept  it — and  he  said,  putting  his 
baud  upon  it :  'I  have  something  here  that  may  serve  me  in  an 
hour  of  need.  I  had  intended  to  dispose  of  it  differently  had  cir- 
cumstances favored  ;  but  necessity  knows  no  law.  It  may  glitter 
yet  on  the  brow  of  a  queen,  for  all  I  know  !'  " 

"  Had  he  no  other  resources  ?"  I  inquired.  "  Was  this  his  sole 
dependence  ?" 

"  None,  except  the  gold  he  received  from  Dr.  Quintil — that 
green  purse,  with  its  contents,  was  part  of  a  marriage  gift  Paul 
meant  for  you,  dearest.  His  semi-annual  remittance  can  be 
received  from  Bishop  Clare,  it  is  true,  and  thus  the  obligation 
can  be  easily  discharged.  But  under  any  circumstances,  you 
would  prefer  to  have  it  thus  bestowed,  we  know." 

"  Unquestionably  !  But  how  is  he  to  be  provided  for  in 
future,  should  he  remain  absent  some  years  even  ?" 

"  His  income,  which,  from  the  necessity  of  the  case,  must  first 
pass  through  the  form  of  coming  to  me,  will  hereafter  be  remitted 
to  him  in  the  shape  of  bills,  and  directed  to  him  under  his 
assumed  name.  He  will  receive  it  thus  through  the  hands  of  his 
banker,  in  whatever  city  he  takes  up  his  abode  regularly.  I  am 
thankful  he  has  this  certain  means  of  support  in  his  life-long 
exile — for,  Lilian,  he  can  never  return  here." 

"  Never  return !  Oh,  grandmother  !  shall  we  never  see  him 
again  ?" 

"  Why  should  you  wish  it,  child  ?  This  is  no  place  for  him. 
He  can  neither  find  welcome  nor  safety  here  again  "  She  hesi  • 


70  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

tated  a  moment.  "  He  has  forfeited  a  thousand  times  over  all 
claims  on  me,  on  all  of  us.  I  care,  disinterestedly  of  course,  for 
his  safety,  but  this  is  all. 

I  remained  silent.  After  a  pause,  she  continued,  still  speaking 
with  that  gloomy  composure  that  had  rarely  forsaken  her  since 
the  night  of  his  departure. 

"  I  have  little  doubt  that  he  has  made  his  way  to  some  near  sea- 
port, and  taken  passage  to  Europe.  We  shall  not  hear  from  him 
probably  until  after  his  arrival,  and  then  only  through  Bishop 
Clare,  since  letters  directed  to  us  openly  from  abroad  might 
awake  suspicion.  This  step  is  one  he  should  have  taken  ten 
years  ago,  and  would  have  spared  him,  and  all  of  us,  infinite 
shame  and  anguish.  It  is  the  only  one  that  now  remains 
practicable." 

"  And  you,  grandmother,  will  you  continue  to  live  here  1"  I 
asked,  in  cold  surprise. 

"  Certainly,  Lilian  ;  I  hope  you  do  not  suspect  me  of  the  folly 
of  flying  in  his  footsteps  !•  I  might  have  I'.onsented  to  go  to 
Italy,  had  this  exposure  never  occurred,  and  have  continued  my 
cares  for  his  comfort  there,  feeling  at  the  same  time  assured  that 
Jasper  would  be  benefited  by  the  surroundings  of  art,  and  my 
own  life  prolonged,  and  yours  brightened  by  the  influence  of 
climate  and  the  freedom  from  scrutiny.  Dr.  Quintil,  too,  would 
have  found  a  thousand  sources  of  enjoyment  denied  to  him  now, 
and  that  dreary  captivity  have  been  ended  for  us  all.  But  many 
little  obstacles  rose  constantly  in  the  way  of  this  arrangement, 
and  before  measures  could  be  concluded  on — lo,  the  catastrophe  ! 
Henceforth  your  grandfather  must  dwell  alone." 

"Grandmother!"  I  burst  forth,  "have  I  heard  you  aright? 
Have  you  indeed  a  heart  of  stone,  as  you  once  told  me  you  had  ? 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  71 

'Asbestos  purified  and  hardened  Ij  fire,'  you  cake  lit  in  your 
mocking  mood.  Alas  !  how  little  I  believed  you  then  to  be  in 
earnest  1  I  will  not  believe  it  yet,  if  I  can  help  it.  Tell  me  that 
your  words  were  those  of  haste,  and  not  of  fixed  determination  1 
Speak  to  me  !  Would  you  abandon  your  husband  ?" 

I  stood  before  her  in  the  earnest  excitement  of  the  moment, 
and  bent  upon  her  inquiring,  perhaps  angry  eyes. 

"  He  has  chosen  his  fate,  he  has  made  it,"  she  murmured. 
l-  Let  him  go  1" 

"  Is  this  the  time  to  flinch  from  his  side  !"  I  pursued,  "  in  his 
infirmity,  his  sorrow,  his  approaching  age  ?  Oh,  God  I  is  it  of 
stuff  like  this  the  human  heart  is  made?  I  cannot — no,  I  can- 
not believe  in  this  resolution  of  yours,  because  its  very  foundation 
is  so  unstable.  Who  loves  you  as  he  loves  you  ?  To  whom  else 
are  you  half  so  dear,  so  necessary  ?  What  will  his  fantastic  life 
be  in  the  great  whirl  of  Europe,  accustomed  as  he  is  to  be  daily, 
tenderly  cared  for  with  the  irresponsibility  almost  of  a  little 
child  ?  A  bubble  crushed  in  a  moment,  a*  broken  reed,  a  useless 
toy  applied  to  stern  purposes.  Such  will  his  life  be,  grandmother. 
Turn  out  your  caged  mocking-bird  to-day  to  the  winds  and  thf 
hardships  of  a  precarious  existence,  and  the  attacks  of  its  kind 
unused  to  self-protection,  and  where  will  it  be  to-morrow  ?" 

"  Lilian,"  she  said,  with  a  flashing  eye  and  rising  color,  "  it  ia 
too  much  a  habit  of  yours  to  measure  your  own  weakness  with 
my  strength." 

"  You  overrate  your  own  strength,"  I  interrupted — "  your  own 
cruelty  rather,"  I  murmured,  not  unheard  by  her.  "  Call  it  what 
you  may,  whether  it  be  love,  or  pity,  or  hatred  even,  the  senti- 
ment that  binds  you  to  this  exile  has  hold  of  your  heart-strings. 
Oh  1  your  course  has  been  so  firm,  so  noble,  do  not  forsake  it 


72  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVERIE. 

now  ;"  and  as  I  spoke,  I  threw  myself  on  my  knees  by  her  chair, 
and  buried  my  face  in  her  lap.  "  Go  to  him,  and  comfort  him,  as 
you  only  can  comfort,"  I  continued,  looking  up.  "  By  his  very 
errors  and  misfortunes,  I  conjure  you  to  finish  your  good  work, 
and  follow  him  to  the  end  of  the  world  if  it  be  needful.  Leave 
not  your  task  incomplete — the  task  that  God  has  assigned  to 
you.  Such  a  beginning  is  worthy  of  a  noble  ending.  Say  that 
y:>u  will  proceed,  dear  grandmother." 

"  No  more  of  this,"  she  said,  and  with  a  stern,  strong  grasp 
she  brought  me  to  my  feet.  "You  preach  well,  Lilian ;  by  whom 
have  you  been  ordained  ?"  She  smiled  bitterly. 

"  By  natural  affection,"  I  said,  swallowing  my  indignant  tears ; 
"  and  through  that  by  God  himself." 

Something  in  my  manner  seemed  to  change  her  mood,  for  drop- 
ping the  sarcastic  bitterness  with  which  she  had  last  spoken,  she 
added  in  low  accents  : 

''You  do  not  love  Jasper,  Lilian,  or  you  could  never  wish  for 
your  grandfather's  return." 

"  Not  love  him  !  Oh,  you  know  that  I  do  love  him  more  than 
my  own  life."  And  I  stood  mute  and  tearful  before  her,  my 
head  bowed  011  my  breast. 

"  Do  you  not  know,  my  child,  that  as  his  wife  you  would  incur 
the  hatred,  nay  the  curse  of  Erastus  Bouverie  ?  Do  you  suppose 
the  old  leaven  is  dead,  or  that  it  would  be  even  safe  to  trust 
yourself  in  his  presence  after  such  a  marriage  ?  Oh,  child,  you 
little  know  all  the  perfidy,  all  the  cruelty  that  dwells  enshrined  in 
one,  of  whom  you  in  your  young  romance  have  made  a  hero  ?  Of 
one  so  unfortunate,  so  doomed,  that  his  sorrows  seem,  at  times, 
even  in  the  eyes  of  his  victims,  to  wipe  away  the  long  score  of  his 
crimes.  Lilian,  do  you  recall  the  first  curse  of  Moses  on  the  land 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE.  73 

of  Egypt?  Time  was,  my  child,  when  the  man  you  plead  for 
had  power  like  this,  and  the  very  water  I  raised  to  my  lips  seemed 
tinged  with  blood  to  me  by  acts  of  his." 

"  Have  pity,  grandmother  !  I  discard  all  other  claims,"  I 
said,  thrilled  by  the  mysterious  horror  of  her  allusions.  "  Duty, 
affection,  habit,  I  surrender  these  in  my  appeal  for  him  !  I 
agree  with  you  they  are  justly  forfeited  ;  but  give  at  least  what 
you  daily  ask  from  God — mercy,  compassion.  Do  not  for- 
sake your  husband  in  any  mistaken  interest  for  me,  for  others. 
Long  before  you  knew  Jasper,  he  had  been  your  first  object ; 
long  before  the  waves  of  destiny  threw  me  helplessly  at  your  feet, 
he  was  your  habitual  care  and  charge.  We  two  can  struggle  on 
alone,  if  indeed  you  forbid  us  to  follow  you,  but  your  place  is  at 
his  side  here  and  hereafter." 

She  gazed  at  me  long  and  earnestly  before  she  replied  to  this 
passionate  outburst  of  mine,  made  with  clasped  hands  and  stream- 
ing eyes.  At  one  time,  great  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  at 
another,  cold  flitting  smiles  quivered  across  her  face  ;  but  when 
she  spoke  to  me  she  was  calm,  and  sad,  and  determined,  as  one 
who  rises  from  a  last  vigil  by  a  coffin  now  closed  forever, 'stamped 
with  the  great  seal  of  the  inevitable. 

"  Lilian,"  she  said,  "  do  you  suppose  that  there  is  any  sugges- 
tion possible  to  your  young,  inexperienced  mind,  that  has  not  been 
more  than  once  revolved  by  mine  ? — that  has  not  become  familiar 
even  to  my  thoughts  ?  You  appeal  to  my  compassion.  Have  I 
not  proved  the  nature  of  this  to  the  full  extent  of  human  capacity 
and  heavenly  requirements  ?  I  have  pitied  him,  do  pity  him,  mor- 
bidly, perhaps  ;  but  I  also  am  beginning  to  pity  myself.  I  feel 
like  that  '  Bertha  in  the  lane/  in  the  new  poem  of  Elizabeth  Bar- 
ret, you  were  reading  to  me  lately,  when  she  'pitied  her  own 


74  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

heart,  as  though  she  held  it  in  her  hand !'  Like  her,  I  seem  to 
stand  apart,  and  contemplate  the  ruins  of  my  own  nature,  as  with 
foreign  eyes.  I  pity  that  shattered  life  that  abides  in  my  withered, 
dissatisfied  heart.  I  pity  the  being  who  might  have  been  so 
good,  so  gay,  so  happy,  who  is  so  sad,  so  cheerless,  so  bereft ! 
There  are  tunes  when  a  rebellion  takes  place  in  our  own  nature 
against  all  the  laws  that  rule  it,  and  the  shallow  despotism  of 
habit  and  of  circumstance  is  overthrown.  I  feel  this  now — every 
drop  of  blood  in  my  veins  cries  out  within  me  for  peace,  for  rest, 
for  freedom,  for  relief,  for  a  new  order  of  things,  a  fresher  life,  a 
nobler  influence  !  Henceforth  I  will  seek  my  own  happiness,  and 
find  it  where  I  can.  I  will  separate  the  tangled  warp  of  his  fate 
irom  the  woof  of  mine,  and  weave  fresh  flowers  on  its  barren 
surface." 

Oh,  vain,  vain  words,  to  which  no  reply  was  possible  ! — words 
destined  soon  to  find  their  own  best  refutation.  Who  talks  with 
any  real  belief,  in  any  such  thing,  of  that  mere  chimera  of  human 
vanity — the  free  agency  of  man  ?  /Are  not  circumstances  our 
laws  and  motives,  our  masters  ?  Who  holds  the  clue  to  these  ? 
Would  «any  one  be  what  he  is,  could  he  be  otherwise  by  a  mere 
act  of  volition  ?  Can  any  one  account  for  his  condition,  or  half 
the  causes  that  led  him  to  it  ?  We  can,  indeed,  hi  looking  back 
over  the  past,  see  points  in  our  career  where  we  think  that  we 
could  have  paused  or  proceeded  ;  but  how  many  more  do  we  be- 
hold, past  which  we  feel  that  we  have  been  borne  as  on  the  rush- 
ing wings  of  fate  itself,  without  consent  or  premonition  of  our 
own?  / 

How  reconcile  these  apparent  inconsistencies?  How  decide 
where  fate,  where  will,  predominated  ?  How  separate  the  volun- 
tary from  the  necessary,  or  the  impulsive  from  the  resistless? 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKEE.  75 

Answer  these  questions,  oh  sophist !  who,  in  thy  little  range  of 
liberty,  darest  assert  absolute  freedom,  and  pardon  me  this  homely 
illustration  of  my  conception  of  a  mighty  truth. 

There  is  a  hen  tied  to  the  old  apple-tree,  in  my  garden,  by  a 
string  twelve  feet  long.  Within  the  limits  of  this  string  she  can 
scratch,  cluck,  fret,  gather  together  her  chirping  brood.  Beyond 
it,  a  higher  power  than  she  can  conceive  of,  has  ordained  that  she 
cannot  pass.  The  string,  and  the  shadow  of  the  apple-tree,  are  the 
boundaries  of  her  lot — absolute,  stringent,  indisputable  facts, 
neither  to  be  overcome  by  her  capacity,  nor  yet  by  that  capacity 
comprehended.  Yet  this  is  a  wise  and  even  benevolent  arrange- 
ment, in  which  her  best  interest  is  considered,  as  well  as  that  of 
the  owner  of  the  garden.  Lives  there  a  being  who  does  not 
recognize  his  limits  hi  circumstances,  and  where,  then,  is  free 
agency  ? 

Cease,  cease  to  believe,  oh  children  of  the  dust  1  that  it  lies  in 
your  power  to  sever  wholly  any  link  that  fate  has  woven,  around 
you,  even  when  you  seem  to  have  cut  it  away  forever  1-  Natural 
affection  is  a  zoophite,  and  puts  forth  ever-renewed  tendrils.  Do 
not  suppose  that  you  can  cast  forth  to  scorn,  and  to  shame,  the 
friend,  the  brother,  the  child,  the  wife,  the  husband,  unavenged, 
who  have  ceased  to  be  true,  or  worthy,  or  beloved. 

You  may  indeed  remove  from  your  own  home  their  existence, 
forbid  their  names  to  be  mentioned  before  you,  and  drive  back 
their  memories  to  the  very  inmost  recesses  of  your  heart.  But 
there  are  times  when  the  door  of  that  stony  sepulchre  opens,  and 
the  procession  glides  forth  with  unspeakable  horror  and  ghostly 
recognition.  /As  well  cut  off  your  hand,  and  expect  to  supply  its 
place  with  a  thing  of  wood,  as  to  replace  that  which  is  implanted 
in  your  life  with  external  influences.  The  hand  is  gone  !  You 


76  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEREE. 

have  done  with  it  forever  !  Not  so — the  aching  stump  still  puts 
forth  its  imaginary  fingers  to  taunt  you  with  the  poverty  of  its 
substitute,  and  to  remind  you  of  its  past  ministry,  Jrt  • 

Yield,  then,  with  humility  born  of  your  faith  hi  the  inevitable, 
and,  with  the  dignity  of  non-resistance  to  the  fierce  current  that 
dashes  over  you,  go  down  with  the  boat  intrusted  to  your  charge 
to  the  bottom  of  the  deep,  rather  than  stand  alone  on  the  grey 
rock  of  selfish  isolation,  and  witness  its  submergment. 

The  community  of  suffering  is  a  terrible  but  established  law. 
Its  justice  we  do  not  see,  its  compensation  we  know  not  here — 
may  never  know  ;  but  this  it  is  given  to  us  to  feel,  thai,  those  who 
stand  aloof  from  it  are  accursed,  even  here  on  earth,  and  worthy 
of  the  cleaving  curse  hereafter. 

Let  us  take  comfort  in  the  belief  that  our  Creator  has  im- 
planted 110  instinct  in  vain,  and  that  pity  and  fidelity,  even  when 
affection  is  dead,  form  a  noble  part  of  duty. 

Let  us  believe,  likewise,  that  we  owe  something  to  the  past  as 
well  as  present;  and  that  having  once  loved,  is  an  anchored  obliga- 
tion to  the  heart  that  loves  no  more. 

Cut  loose  from  this  fast  principle,  the  ship  of  life  drifts  carelessly 
along,  and  finds  no  more  a  harbor  in  which  it  can  abide,  and  cast 
its  anchor  ;  and  the  shores  of  life  fleet  by  it  like  a  dream. 

This  noble  ancestress  of  mine  had  acted  up  to  every  precept  of 
her  conscience,  every  murmur  of  the  finer  instinct  of  compassionate 
forbearance,  every  god-like  principle  of  mercy  and  self-sacrifice. 
Was  she  to  abandon  all  these  now,  for  the  hollow  semblance  of 
ease  and  prosperity  that  remained  to  her  ?  Was  she  to  look  back 
from  the  plough,  on  which  she  had  so  long  laid  a  guiding  hand,  and 
forego  the  golden  harvest  of  self-acquittal  ?  No,  this  should  not 
be.  Every  voice  of  my  soul  cried  against  it.  God  himself  would 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  77 

interpose,  and  prevent  the  imperfect  consummation  of  a  great  be- 
ginning. I  felt  that,  by  means  unknown  to  her,  she  would  yet  be 
compelled  to  proceed  in  the  same  pathway. 

From  this  tune  forth  my  grandfather's  name  was  mentioned  no 
more  between  us  two,  during  those  long  days  of  silent,  wearing 
anxiety,  whose  shadow  lies  over  my  being  to  this  hour — those 
days  which  intervened  between  that  repudiation  of  allegiance  on 
her  part,  and  the  startling  revulsion  of  feeling  which  prostrated 
all  rebellious  resolutions  in  one  unguarded  moment. 


^nsrs'tor- 

- 


u  . •*--:<;.!' 

h-  •!  vrff  -KJY 

,-:•!    .jji.'lt 

.o  n-'*wfn< 


BOOK  SEVENTH. 

«'  Tbe  calm  of  that  old  reverend  brow,  the  glow 
Of  fta  thin  silver  locks  was  like  a  flash 
Of  sunlight  in  the  pauses  of  a  storm." 

SAMOK  (llilmany. 

"  A  moment  stop  !  my  lord,  my  lord 
Spare  him — I  kneel  to  you  and  wet  the  ground 
With  tears." 

"  No  more  of  that,  I  am  a  desolate  man 
Much  injured,  and  my  heart  is  cold  as  lead." 

MIRANDOLA  (Barry  Cornwall). 

"  Remorse  is  as  the  heart  in  which  it  grows, 
If  that  be  gentle,  it  drops  balmy  dews 
Of  true  repentance ;  but  if  proud  and  gloomy, 
It  is  a  poison  tree  that  pierced  to  the  utmost 
Weeps  only  tears  of  poison." 

COLERIDGE. 

14  My  Aureole — my  forgotten,  ruined  Aureole  1 
Thy  days  are  gone,  all  gone ;  how  grand  thou  wert  I 

I  want  to  be  forgotten,  even  by  God." 

PAJUCBLSCS  (Browning). 


.T 

' 

njmais  »  fn  K-: 


•tiij  )«-n  ;• 

".*- 


•JMTO 


BOOK     SEVENTH. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ri>  Ia:s  ,bs&:;!q-:il  =i?i»TR  rm.ftrf 

NOVEMBER  closed  in  with  an  austerity  rare  in  that  mild  climate, 
and  at  that  usually  open  season  ;  snow  had  fallen,  succeeded  by 
severe  frosts,  and  the  blighted  dahlias  and  chrysanthemums,  sad 
effigies  of  autumn,  stood  brown  and  leafless  in  the  garden,  from 
which  all  summer-bloom  had  long  departed.  Cold  and  constant 
rains,  and  bleak  northeast  winds  combined  to  make  us  prisoners 
in  the  house,  and  wholly  dependent  on  such  resources  as  we  pos- 
sessed within  ourselves  ;  these,  even,  were  seldom  called  upon. 

The  time  dragged  heavily  on,  even  to  those  in  whom  youth  and 
hope  infused  their  own  elements  of  elasticity  and  enjoyment  ;  but 
to  her  in  whom  these  were  dead  how  leaden  were  its  footsteps  — 
how  darkly  measured  its  progress  !  We  knew  that  the  utmost 
vigilance  still  prevailed  with  regard  to  my  grandfather's  move- 
ments. We  had  been  subjected  several  times  since  he  left  us  to 
the  shame  and  inconvenience  of  a  renewed  search  through  our 
premises,  and  house  itself. 

Its  roof  could  no  longer  afford  him  an  asylum;  he  was  by 
necessity  an  outcast.  Strange,  strange  indeed  it  was,  that  while 
all  who  might  have  been  conceived  to  feel  interest  in  his  arrest  — 
all  that  he  had  injured  or  offended  —  remained  quiet,  or  enlisted 
their  best  energies  in  his  behalf,  mere  outsiders,  who  could  have 
no  possible  concern  in  his  past  or  future,  were  mad  in  the  pursuit. 

The  public  mind  had  "taken  on"   a  great  excitement.     There 

si 


82  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOUVEKIE. 

was  something  so  strange,  so  romantic,  the  papers  said,  in  the 
idea,  that  a  criminal  ten  years  concealed  not  twenty  miles  from 
the  court-house  in  which  sentence  of  death  had  been  passed  on 
him  should,  by  a  catastrophe,  wholly  unaccountable  and  unex- 
plained, be  brought  to  light,  as  by  the  hand  of  Providence 
itself  I 

"  The  very  stones  were  displaced,  and  the  massive  walls  of  his 
hiding-place  rent  open,  that  justice  might  be  satisfied,  and  the  law 
fulfilled  !"  said  one  eloquent  sectarian  sheet  ;  and  the  druids  of 
the  press  generally  made  their  circles  of  stones,  and  attired  them- 
selves in  woad-colored  weeds,  and  prepared  with  unaffected  and 
pious  delight,  to  offer  human  sacrifice. 

It  was  while  this  tide  of  persecution  surged  high,  and  my 
grandmother's  condition  was  one  of  extreme  nervous  prostration, 
that  Bishop  Clare  came  to  Bouverie.  How  we  all  welcomed 
him,  our  strength,  our  protection,  our  only  earthly  consolation, 
we  felt  him  then;  the  friend  who  could  be  relied  on  through 
danger,  through  suffering,  through  disgrace,  through  death  itself; 
the  pure,  the  strong,  the  humble,  the  immaculate  old  man  ! 

He  had  not  seen  my  grandfather,  had  not  heard  of  him,  save 
through  the  voice  of  public  rumor.  It  seemed  that  Erastus 
Bouverie  had  not  aimed  after  all  to  reach  St.  Stephen's,  or  so 
aiming  had  failed  and  taken  a  different  direction.  Our  friend 
(our  only  one)  had  come  immediately  on  his  return  from  a 
distant  part  of  his  diocese,  to  see  what  could  be  done  ;  what  he 
could  do.  Alas  !  he  found  himself  powerless,  at  least  for  the 
time,  and  could  only  conjecture  and  console. 

He  believed,  as  my  grandmother  did,  that  his  consummate  ad- 
dress had  carried  Erastns  Bouverie  safely  through  his  foes  to  the 
sea-shore,  and,  that  assuming  an  alias,  he  had  sailed  for  some 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  83 

European  port.  In  the  meantime,  he  advised  Dr.  Quintil  to 
convert  the  gold  he  brought  with  him,  and  gave  into  his  hands, 
into  bills,  that  could  be  sent  abroad  at  an  hour's  warning,  when- 
ever letters  arrived  directing  their  destination. 

"  The  first  communication  will  probably  come  to  me,  to  prevent 
suspicion  ;  but  you  shall  have  it  as  soon  as  a  horse  can  gallop 
from  Croften  thither  ;  and  in  the  meantime  keep  up  your  spirits, 
Camilla — never  more  needed  than  now,"  he  said,  turning  to  my 
grandmother,  "  and  look  fate  full  in  the  eye.  It  is  like  a  lion, 
believe  me  ;  it  quails  before  the  resolute." 

"  Do  you  separate  fate  from  God,  that  you  speak  of  it  thus  ?" 
I  asked,  impulsively. 

The  question  seemed  to  trouble  him. 

"  I  mean,"  he  said,  "  that  courage  disarms  destiny  of  its 
harshest  sting,  that  is  all.  I  do  not  recognize  the  Greek  theory 
of  a  blind  necessity.  Understand  me  fully,  Lilian,  on  this 
point." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  I  said  :  "  The  beaten  slave  creeps  close 
to  the  whip,  to  break  the  force  of  the  lash ;  this  is  what  you 
mean  1" 

"  We  should  not  compare  our  Creator  to  a  hard  task-master, 
my  daughter,"  said  the  mild  priest.  "  He  is  ever  merciful  Are 
we  not  told  in  words  of  almost  scriptural  beauty,  that  he  '  tempers 
the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb  ?'  Does  not  holy  writ  itself  declare, 
that  '  he  counts  the  sparrows  as  they  fall ;'  that  he  numbers 
1  the  hairs  of  our  heads  ?'  What  infinite  care,  solicitude,  affec- 
tion, do  not  these  sacred  words  convey  ?" 

"  It  is  all  mystery,"  I  murmured  ;  "  but  oh,  there  is  so  much  in 
life  that  is  hard  to  bear." 

"And  but  for  this,  dear  Lilian,  who  would  seek  heaven,  and 
20 


84  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

learn  to  welcome  death  ?  Could  all  be  young,  happy,  prosperous, 
the  arms  of  Jesus  would  be  stretched  in  vain." 

"  We  are  not  consulted  on  the  subject,  or  perhaps  human  incli- 
nations would  be  found  at  variance  with  these  received  opinions. 
There  are  few  so  base  as  to  wish  to  outlive  their  happiness.  I, 
for  one,  pray  to  die  before  any  one  of  those  I  love." 

"And  yet  it  is  your  doom  to  survive  them  all,"  he  rejoined, 
turning  upon  me  sorrowful  eyes.  "  You  will  yet  find  yourself 
alone  with  God  !" 

"  Let  him  take  me  rather  in  the  very  zenith  of  my  happiness, 
while  the  cup  mantles  to  my  lip,  if  such  a  thing  can  ever  be.  I 
ask  to  die  before  I  am  desolate  and  old,"  I  said,  passionately. 

"  He  will  do  what  is  best  for  you,  Lilian — be  sure  of  that ;  nor 
have  you  any  right  to  question  his  justice,  whatever  may  betide. 
But  I,  who  judge  well  of  probabilities  from  experience,  looking  on 
your  lithe  figure  and  healthful  face,  and  a  certain  look  of  power 
that  accompanies  intense  vitality,  may  safely,  I  think,  prophesy, 
without  an  accident,  long  life  for  you." 

"  Life  !  Ah,  father,  mine  will  pass  with  theirs  I  love,  no 
matter  how  long  my  frame  survives  them,  for  life  is  far  more  than 
mere  existence/and  we  may  die  young,  yet  seemingly  live  to  be 
very  old." 

"Ah,  Lily,  that  is  one  of  your  poetical  ideas  ;  the  reality  is, 
that  as  long  as  the  brain  thinks,  and  the  heart  beats,  we  live,  and 
are  bound  to  our  fellow-beings." 

"  You  would  have  made  a  poor  St.  Simeon  Stylites,  father  ;  yet 
see  how  Tennyson  has  immortalized  him  lately.  Isolation  is  not 
your  theory." 

"He  had  a  good  constitution,  certainly,  that  Simeon  Sty- 
Utes,"  broke  in  Dr.  Quintilian.  "  The  facts,  if  true,  as  recorded 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  85 

by  Tennyson,  are  worth  preserving,  if  merely  as  matters  of  medical 
interest.  I  wish  you  would  look  among  the  archives  of  the 
Fathers,  dear  bishop,  and  see  if  any  faith  may  be  placed  in  these 
Assertions  of  that  English  romancer  and  rhymer  Lilian  is  so  crazy 
about." 

"  There  certainly  was  such  a  saint,"  replied  the  bishop  ;  "  but 
I  remember  very  little  more  about  him  than  his  name,  and  that 
he  lived  on  a  column  for  thirty  years,  provided  for,  probably,  by 
his  friends  below,  in  a  precarious  manner  ;  but  whether  he 
had" 

"An  umbrella  ?"  broke  in  Dr.  Quintil,  irreverently. 

"  The  success  imputed  to  him  in  prayer  I  know  not,"  proceeded 
the  bishop,  gravely,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  the  interruption,  yet 
flushing  slightly  in  spite  of  self-command,  at  the  irrelevant  inter- 
polation. 

All  this  time  my  grandmother  sat  like  one  in  a  dream,  gazing 
into  the  fire.  The  immovable  attitude  she  maintained,  her  bowed 
head,  her  clasped  hands,  her  feet  placed  closely  together,  yet  care- 
lessly extended,  all  denoted  the  deepest  dejection,  the  most  self- 
absorbed  indifference  to  what  was  going  on  around  her. 

From  this  mood  she  was  aroused  at  last  by  a  conversation 
which,  begun  in  undertones  by  Bishop  Clare  and  Dr.  Quintil,  had 
loudened  as  it  proceeded,  until  it  reached  my  ear,  and  finally 
hers.  They  were  agitating  the  possibility  of  Mr.  Bouverie's  arrest, 
should  he  not  have  made  his  escape,  as  they  both  fondly  persuaded 
themselves,  however,  he  had  done.  They  were  revolving,  as  a 
desperate  resource,  under  such  circumstances,  an  appeal  to  the 
governor  in  his  behalf. 

"  It  is  no  shame  to  be  refused  in  such  a  cause,  and  names  shall 
be  appended  to  this  petition  that  were  not  affixed  to  the  other- 


86  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

those  of  Paul  and  Jasper  Quintilian,"  were  the  first  distinct  words 
I  heard. 

The  bishop  started.  "  I  had  not  thought  of  this,"  he  said  j 
"  there  certainly  is  a  difference.  Such  magnanimity  ought — nay, 
must — make  its  impression  on  any  man  of  feeling." 

"  It  may,"  said  Dr.  Quintilian  ;  "  we  can  say  no  more.  I  know 
the  man — I  know  his  uncompromising  nature,  when  once  aroused 
to  enmity,  and  his  almost  Jewish  opinions  on  the  subject  of  retri- 
bution. I  confess  I  am  not  sanguine.  Had  this  necessity  arisen 
in  Governor  Leadbeater's  term,  there  would  have  been  far  greater 
prospect  of  success.  Even  then  we  should  have  had  much  to  con- 
tend against ;  but  there,  at  least,  there  was  no  personal  dislike." 

"It  is  a  bitter  grudge,  I  know,"  resumed  the  bishop  ;  "and 
whether  founded  in  wrong  or  right,  almost  a  part  of  his  being 
now,  I  fear.  Yet  there  are  other  considerations  that  may  weigh 
with  him — the  prosperity  of  a  family,  the  long  lapse  of  time,  the 
ancient  friendship  for  Mrs.  Bouverie." 

"That  will  not  weigh  one  grain  in  the  balance  with  James 
Staunton,"  said  the  person  last  mentioned,  rousing  at  last  from 
apathy,  and  speaking  with  earnest  vehemence.  "Innocent  or 
guilty,  as  Mr.  Bouverie  may  have  been,  of  offence  against  him,  his 
convictions  are  immovable  on  that  point,  and  he  regards  me,  I 
well  know,  as  the  blameless  cause  of  all.  As  well  seek  to  animate 
with  feeling  this  marble  hearth  beneath  my  feet,  as  the  heart  of 
our  enemy  with  mercy  for  our  sorrows.  But  why  agitate  the 
matter  at  all  ?  He  is  gone,  and  no  eyes  of  ours  shall  behold  him 
more.  Let  us  forget — let  us  try  and  forget  his  very  existence.  It 
can  never  be  more  to  us  again  than  these  ashes." 

"You  are  right,  perhaps,  my  daughter,"  said  the  bishop,  in 
slow,  severe,  accents,  "to  doubt  the  existence  of  mercy  in  the 


THE   HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.  87 

heart  of  the  foeman  of  Erastus  Bouverie,  since  by  his  own  hearth- 
stone such  sentiments  are  expressed." 

The  rebuke  seemed  to  sting  her  to  whom  it  was  addressed,  but 
for  all  answer  she  turned  on  him  a  look — a  gaze,  rather — so  sad, 
so  speaking,  that  the  tears  sprang  to  his  eyes  as  he  met  it,  and 
understood  its  significance. 

"  Tou  who  know  all,"  it  seemed  to  say,  "  I  thought  at  least 
you  would  do  me  justice  1"  and  the  sad  eyes  drooped  again  on  stone 
and  ashes. 

Cold  as  she  seemed  to  be,  that  she  was  not  insensible,  the  phy- 
sical change  that  she  had  undergone  denoted.  No  brilliant  crim- 
son now  illumined  her  olive  cheek,  clear,  pale  as  marble.  No 
sudden  fire  flashed  from  her  dark  eyes,  lighting  them  up  as  with 
the  glory  of  youth.  No  gorgeous  dress  gave  variety  to  her  appear- 
ance, and  well  became  her  stately  mien  and  aspect.  That 
"  masquerade  of  solitude,"  as  she  had  called  it  once,  was  over  now 
forever  ;  but  with  it  seemed  to  have  vanished  much  that  was  real 
and  invigorating.  It  was  a  motive,  at  all  events,  for  exertion  and 
personal  interest  that  could  never  be  restored.  Her  rounded  pro- 
portions were  shrinking  visibly  away,  even  in  the  two  short  weeks 
of  anxiety  she  had  experienced,  for  her  food  remained  almost  un- 
tasted  before  her,  and  sleep  was  fast  becoming  a  stranger  to 

her  eyes. 

She  was  suffering  far  more  than  any  of  us,  despite  her  stoical 
mood,  her  uncompromising  sternness,  and  the  body  betrayed  the 
soul.  Where  was  all  this  to  end  ?  What  was  the  true  condition 
of  my  grandfather,  and  when  should  we  learn  it  ?  Alas,  a  dark 
suspicion  began  to  be  rife  in  my  heart — a  suspicion  never  breathed 
to  any  one  but  Jasper — and  hardly  allayed,  when  after  many 
days  of  active  search  and  riding  through  the  woods  that  lay  be« 


68  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVER1E. 

tween  Bouverie  and  Croften,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
doubt  I  entertained  was  impossible,  and  a  mere  matter  of  morbid 
imagination.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  might  in  his  feeble  con- 
dition have  fallen  and  died  untended  in  the  forest.  For  a  long 
time  I  could  not  bring  myself  to' believe  that  he  was  safe.  When 
I  heard  the  wind  howl,  and  the  ram  fall,  I  shuddered  with  the 
thought  that  he  was  exposed  to  both,  ill,  or  dying,  or  dead  ;  and 
1  fancied  the  cold,  uncared-for  corpse,  lying  perhaps  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree,  among  the  drifting  leaves  ;  then  the  later  horrors,  the 
slow  decay,  the  vultures,  the  long,  dreary  winter,  wrapping  the 
dishonored  remains  with  snow  ;  the  spring  bringing  them  to  light 
again  ;  the  bleaching  bones,  the  discovery  perhaps  at  last  made  by 
wood-choppers  or  wayfarers,  and  the  identification  through  means 
of  some  shred  of  clothing,  or  the  indestructible  "  gnome  eye  "  itself 
in  its  jewelled  box.  These  visions  pursued  and  tortured  me.  They 
were  dispelled  at  last  I  believe  by  the  very  shock  to  my  nervous 
system,  which  might  have  been  supposed  to  have  confirmed  them  ; 
and  again  I  began  to  lend  confidence  to  the  hope  that  he  had 
escaped  and  baffled  his  pursuers. 


10, 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  89 

339<iJ>fi{I  £3  Rsm'-wq  tows  Awnte  Jwrs  ^tor  9rj j  jn<Kj6  bofosdw 

CHAPTER  II. 

LATE  one  afternoon,  I  took  advantage  of  my  grandmother's 
absence  from  her  chamber,  to  ascend  the  spiral  stair  again  that 
led  to  the  sealed  apartments  of  Bouverie.  The  secret  door,  long 
locked,  was  open  now  to  all.  The  repairs  necessary  to  the  dome 
and  walls  had  just  been  completed,  the  furniture  had  been 
replaced  ;  all  was  silent  and  little  changed  save  in  the  absence  of 
life  and  occupancy  the  rooms  presented.  But  every  one  knows 
the  mighty  difference  created  by  this  void  ;  the  cold,  the  sicken- 
ing aspect  of  a  chamber  recently  abandoned.  The  chairs  arrayed 
in  rows,  the  fireless  hearth,  the  unincumbered  tables,  the  prim 
mantel,  the  stripped  or  unpressed  bed,  the  drawn-down  curtains, 
and  perhaps  the  forgotten  and  faded  flowers  ;  we  have  all  felt, 
more  or  less,  the  power  these  things  have  over  our  spirits,  and 
how  irresistibly  they  remind  us  of  desolation  and  death. 

It  was,  however,  some  moments  before  I  put  a  foot  in  the 
chamber  my  grandfather  had  last  occupied — the  winter  chamber 
into  which  he  had  recently  removed — and  which  was  still  secured 
as  when  he  left  it,  with  the  close  inner  shutters  and  nailed-up 
jalousies.  I  paused  in  the  rotunda.  The  skylight  was  open  to 
admit  the  air  needful  for  drying  the  fresh  plaster  of  the  room, 
and  it  gave  admission  to  a  few  gleams  of  sunshine  that  had 
broken  through  the  clouds,  so  densely  piled  all  day  in  the  north- 
eastern heavens,  less  heavy  toward  the  west.  My  entrance 
alarmed  some  birds  that  had  taken  refuge  in  the  hall,  and  I  in 
turn  was  startled  by  their  wild  and  sudden  fluttering,  as  they 


90  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOTIVERIE. 

wheeled  about  the  walls,  and  struck  such  pictures  as  had  been 
hung  on  the  uninjured  portions  of  these,  their  sharp  beaks  sound' 
ing  on  the  glass  that  covered  them  with  a  clear,  clicking  regu- 
larity, and  their  winnowing  wings  filling  the  silence  with  murmur- 
ing musical  vibrations.  There  stood  unstirred  the  cabinet  of 
corns  and  minerals  and  medals  ;  and  the  fearful  apparatus,  appa- 
rently uninjured,  that  had  played  such  a  frightful  part  in  our 
tragedy  ;  the  copper  vessels  glowing  hi  the  red  sunshine  of  even- 
ing, as  though  heated  by  the  fires  beneath. 

But  the  soul  of  all  these  suggestive  attributes  was  wanting.  The 
active  step,  the  graceful  form,  the  expressive  voice,  the  glance, 
the  smile  of  alternate  power  and  witchery,  where  were  they 
now  ?  Alas,  I  shuddered  at  the  bleak  anguish  my  conjectures 
awakened ! 

"  Grandfather !"  I  half  exclaimed,  "  if  indeed  you  are  dead, 
and  spirits  be  permitted  to  revisit  the  earth,  return  and  speak  to 
me  ;  do  not  fear  to  startle  me  ;  I  am  nerved  to  bear  anything 
rather  than  this  wearing  anxiety.  But  come  to  me  as  I  knew 
you,  not  in  wan,  ghostly  presence,  awful,  shadowy,  and  mysteri- 
ous, or  perhaps  indeed  my  brain  may  shrink  and  reel  in  spite  of 
the  strength  I  feel  to  meet  the  truth  !  Come  in  familiar  guise, 
and  tell  me  how  it  fares  with  you,  dear  grandfather  1" 

Even  as  I  murmured  these  excited  words,  I  passed  into  the 
inner  chamber,  and  stood  at  first,  almost  blind,  in  the  dusky  twi- 
light. The  great  bedstead  loomed  up  with  its  heavy  drawn 
curtains,  like  some  gigantic  pall  against  the  wall.  The  table, 
cleared  fr.om  its  litter  of  books  and  papers,  stood  bare  and  mas- 
sive in  the  centre  of  the  floor.  In  the  corner  of  the  fireless 
hearth  was  the  accustomed  chair  in  which  he  loved  to  sit,  large 
and  cushioned,  and  covered  with  brown  Russia  leather,  emitting 


TUB   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  91 

a  faint,  odorous  smell.  It  seemed  more  than  aught  else  identified 
with  him,  and  I  approached  it  now  as  if  it  were  a  familiar  friend, 
on  whom  I  might  lean  and  make  my  lamentations. 

God  of  heaven,  it  was  occupied  ! — and  by  whom  ?  Had  my 
wild  invocation  been  answered  ?  Dressed  in  his  rich  robe  of 
flowered  brocade,  his  hands  crossed  upon  his  breast,  his  head 
covered  with  a  white  napkin,  so  as  to  be  invisible  to  me,  sat — 
oh,  could  I  doubt  the  familiar  presence ! — my  grandfather,  in  the 
attitude  of  a  calm  sleeper.  I  shrieked  and  called  his  name, 
standing  with  clasped  hands,  half  frozen  with  terror  before  the 
chair. 

The  figure  rose.  I  saw  no  more,  but  turned  and  fled  to 
the  outer  hall,  where  I  sank  half  fainting  on  the  sofa.  The 
cowardice,  natural  to  all  mankind,  had  for  the  time  asserted  its 
supremacy,  the  dread  of  the  supernatural,  and  conquered  the 
courageous  teachings  of  affection  and  constancy. 

I  lay  with  my  face  hidden  among  the  cushions,  too  much 
alarmed  and  bewildered  to  determine  on  any  course  of  action,  yet 
gradually  nearing  the  conviction  that  what  I  had  seen  was  no 
shadow,  and  trying  to  gain  courage  to  investigate  the  matter 
more  closely,  when  I  heard  my  name  called  by  a  familiar  voice. 

"  Miss  Lilian,"  it  said,  "  don't  be  frightened  ;  it  was  only  me." 

"  You,  Bianca  !  Is  it  possible.  But  what  is  this  mummery 
for  ?  How  could  you  contrive  such  a  plan  for  startling  me  ? 
What  brings  you  here  ?"  I  added,  a  little  sternly. 

"  The  same,  maybe,  that  brings  you,  Miss  Lilian — sorrow  and 
memory." 

She  stood  before  me  with  her  downcast  eyes,  her  deprecating 
humility  ;  yet  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  she  was  an  intruder. 
I  said,  with  some  bitterness  • 


92 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 


"  I  should  think  you  of  all  others  would  shrink  from  these 
chambers,  Bianca." 

"  Oh,  no,  Miss  Lilian.  It  is  a  comfort  to  me  in  some  sort,  to 
see  the  very  place  where  my  poor  Fabius  met  his  death  ;  a  com- 
fort too  to  cry  alone  sometimes,  out  loud.  In  my  room  I  cannot 
do  this.  Up  here  I  disturb  no  one." 

"  Poor,  poor  Bianca  !"  I  said,  suddenly  smitten  with  pity  and 
remorse  for  my  hardness,  and  extending  my  hand  to  her. 

"  Yes,  Miss  Lilian,  dear  ;  I  come  here  to  try  and  realize  things 
a  little.  My  trouble  is  now,  that  I  cannot  believe  that  Fabius  is 
dead.  I  find  myself  laying  out  his  clothes,  and  watching  for  his 
step  sometimes  ;  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  am  dreaming  a  dull 
dream,  and  will  soon  wake  up,  when  I  try  to  bring  the  truth 
before  me." 

"  Yet  I  cannot  see  how  wrapping  yourself  hi  my  grandfather's 
dressing-gown  could  assist  you  to  realize  the  past,"  I  added,  with 
another  touch  of  asperity.  "  That  I  should  think,  Bianca,  might 
be  held  sacred  to  his  memory  at  least." 

"  I  was  cold,  Miss  Lilian,"  she  said  with  simplicity  ;  "  and  I 
wrapped  myself  in  it,  and  sat  down  hi  the  great  chair  to  cry,  and 
perhaps  I  fell  asleep  ;  I  don't  know.  But  when  I  saw  you  I  felt 
startled.  Were  yon  long  there,  Miss  Lilian  ?" 

"  Not  long,  Bianca  ;  but  I  confess  you  startled  me  hi  turn, 
with  that  white  napkin  spread  over  your  head  like  a  ghost." 

She  smiled  faintly.  "  Did  you  take  me  for  the  spirit  of  poor 
Fabius  himself,  dear,  dressed  in  his  master's  gown  ?  Ah,  child  ! 
ghosts  never  appear  dressed  in  gay  garments  like  that ;  but 
always  in  solemn  black,  or  white,  or  grey  sometimes.  I  mind 
when  the  talk  was  out  about  your  Grandfather  Byrne's  walking, 
(a  soldier  he  was,  child,  and  wore  his  epaulets  when  he  fought 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBEB.  98 

the  English,  and  dressed  as  gay  as  any  other  officer)  that  those 
who  saw  him  said  he  appeared  in  his  grey  undress  frock,  without 
a  color.  That  is  the  fashion  among  spirits,  it  seems." 

She  was  cut  short  by  the  brisk  tinkling  of  the  hall  bell,  a  sound 
rarely  heard  at  Bouverie  ;  and  went  hastily  to  answer  its  sum- 
mons. 

Our  visitor  was  Father  Conrad  in  person.  I  forgot  to  say  that 
the  bishop's  stay  had  been  limited  to  a  few  hours  by  stringent 
circumstances  ;  and  that  during  this  time  Pat  McCormick,  from 
whom  he  still  hoped  to  extract  a  confession  that  might  throw 
some  light  on  the  fugitive,  had  been  vainly  sought  for. 

The  dame,  herself,  lay  ill  with  rheumatic  fever,  and  it  would  be 
doing  injustice  to  a  post  to  have  compared  her  deafness  under  this 
aggravation  to  its  own  proverbial  obtuseness.  The  effort  to  make 
her  hear  had  been  found  wholly  fruitless  ;  but  she  still  retained 
the  gift  of  speech,  and  she  used  it  to  signify  her  desire  to  see 
Father  Conrad,  "  whose  power  wid  his  hands,"  the  dame  stated, 
gave  him  the  advantage  over  every  physician  in  allaying  pain,  and 
inducing  slumber. 

Pat  had  been  dispatched  for  this  unconscious  mesmerist,  and, 
as  under  these  circumstances  the  bishop  could  learn  nothing  from 
either  the  dame  or  her  grandson,  he  promised  to  return  speedily, 
and  in  the  meantime,  to  pursue  his  investigations  elsewhere,  with 
all  the  diligence  he  possessed. 

His  mind  was,  however,  I  saw  clearly,  pretty  well  made  up  as 
to  the  probability,  if  not  certainty,  of  my  grandfather's  escape, 
and  his  safety  from  his  pursuers. 


94  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKIE. 

i*rf) 


CHAPTER  III. 

WHEN  I  went  into  the  dining-room,  where  my  grandmother  and 
Dr.  Quintil  were  seated  with  the  eccentric  priest,  the  scene  of  the 
disguised  fugitive  seemed  to  be  enacted  again  before  me.  Again, 
the  dim  light  of  the  lamp  and  smoldering  fire  diffused  a  partial 
radiance  through  the  room,  and  the  table  spread  for  the  evening 
meal  boasted  its  steaming  urn  and  supper  appointments,  made  this 
tune,  however,  under  Bianca's  careful  superintendence. 

And  again,  in  the  deep  chair,  the  uncouth  form  of  the  father 
appeared,  complete  in  every  attribute,  even  to  the  yellow  bandanna, 
spotted  with  red,  and  the  blue  spectacles,  and  if  possible,  more 
of  a  caricature  in  reality  than  his  own  effigy.  But,  unlike  his 
representative,  he  did  not  decline  the  tendered  cup  of  tea,  nor 
pause  with  this  ;  but  drawing  up  a  chair  (for  none  had  been 
placed  for  him,  either  through  accident  or  design),  commenced  an 
attack  on  the  provisions,  which  threatened  to  carry  famine  into 
the  fortress,  and  which  brought  up  unwonted  smiles  to  my  grand- 
mother's lip. 

"  Are  you  not  going  to  give  the  snake  his  cast-off  skin,  ac- 
cording to  directions  ?"  I  whispered  to  Dr.  Quintil. 

"  He  has  heard  of  it,  and  asks  to  see  it,"  he  replied  ;  "  but  it 
would  be  too  severe  a  shock  to  him  I  fear.  He  would  never  for- 
give us." 

"  Do  you  think  he  never  saw  a  mirror,  that  his  ignorance  of  his 
own  appearance  is  so  profound  ?"  I  asked. 

"  He  has  forgotten  the  first  tune  he  saw  one  probably,  and  has 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKLK.  95 

grown  accustomed  to  his  reflection  in  the  glass,  but  this  would  be 
a  vivid  and  unexpected  reminder  of  the  truth." 

I  could  not  help  laughing  at  the  idea  of  such  sensibility  on  his 
part,  such  vanity  rather,  for  he  certainly  was  hideous  to  me,  if 
man  ever  was.  The  gutta  percha  mask  was  perhaps  a  flattered 
resemblance,  hands  and  all,  for  the  originals  were  embellished 
with  filthy  nails  and  snuffy  thumbs.  "  He^could  not  be  ignorant 
of  his  own  appearance,"  I  thought.  I  was  soon  undeceived. 

"  And  have  you  iver  feenished  my  porthrait,  Mister  Jasper  V 
he  asked  at  last,  with  his  peculiar  and  unpleasant  brogue,  most 
wonderfully  imitated  by  his  representative,  even  to  the  snuflfle. 

Jasper  confessed  his  want  of  perseverance  in  this  case,  with 
courteous  regret. 

"  Feenish  it,  feenish  it,  Jasper,  it  will  make  your  fortune  !  St. 
Silenus  (he  was  a  popular  Greek  saint,  I  believe)  has  never  been 
properly  represented — more's  the  shame  ;  and  stick  to  your 
oregeenal  design,  and  introduce  the  sacred  ass  and  panniers.  He's 
nothing  without  his  emblems." 

I  thought  at  first  he  was  jesting,  but  there  could  be  no  doubt 
of  his  earnestness  when  he  added  : 

"  Throw  in  the  greapes,  too,  Jasper,  they  are  emblems  of  the 
sacred  wine,  you  know,  and  the  blood  of  the  vigitable  creation, 
so  to  speak  ;  and  I  think  if  you  catch  my  best  expression,  you 
will  find  yourself  far  on  the  road  to  feem." 

"  And  what  do  you  consider  your  best  expression,  father?" 
asked  Dr.  Quintil,  with  humorous  hypocrisy. 

"  Well,  I  should  say,  my  binivolint  expression,  which  my  con- 
gregashon  considers  the  most  suitable  to  my  style  of  fatnres,  a 
leetle  too  harsh  otherwise  ;  such  as  illumines  me  countenance 
when  I  spake  a  blessing,  or  discoorse  of  the  promised  jyes 


96  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIK. 

Misther  Mountjoy — a  celebrated  artist  of  Baltimore,  leedies" — 
with  a  diffusive  bow,  "  has  tould  me  that  at  such  moments  I  re- 
minded him  of  St.  Peether,  as  painted  by  Rubens,  I  believe,  but 
maybe  the  name  was  Salvador  Rosy,"  looking  up  as  if  to  invoke 
the  truth  from  heaven. 

"The  likeness  is  remarkable,"  continued  Dr.  Quintil  drily,  "  to 
the  style  of  saints  painted  by  the  latter  artist ;"  adding,  sotto  voce, 
"  drunken  old  bandits  might  pass  as  saints  among  the  ferocious 
ones  you  know,  Lily." 

"Were  you  ever  told  you  were  like  St.  Panza,  father?"  he 
inquired,  elevating  his  voice  again  ;  then  dropping  it,  he  added, 
"  Sancho,  I  believe,  means  saint  in  Spanish,  but  I  am  not  certain, 
Lily." 

"  I  don't  remimber,  I'm  sure  ;  but  I've  been  tould  so  often  of 
my  resimblance  to  these  holy  personages,  that  I  am  more  and 
more  convinced  of  the  nature  of  my  vocation  ;  and  what  is  still 
more  remarkable,  my  tonsure  is  a  natural  one,  Dr.  Quinthil.  I 
have  the  happiness  to  be  bald  by  neeture,  which  I  think  always 
a  special  mark  of  superhuman  preferment." 

"  It  has  astonished  me,  father,  that  a  man  of  your  gay  and 
engaging  appearance  and  manners  should  have  chosen  so  severe  a 
life  ;  but  I  see  now  why  it  was  ;  you  preferred  to  serve  heaven 
to  devoting  yourself  to  the  ladies,  among  whom  you  might  have 
been  so  popular  ;  it  was  because  of  these  signs  of  vocation  of 
which  you  speak.  Truly  a  great  sacrifice,"  and  he  shook  his 
head. 

"  If  you  could  have  seen  the  fair  crachure  whose  heart  my  pri- 
ferince  broke,  you  might  see  so  indeed,"  he  remarked  with  a  blast 
of  his  nasal  trumpet,  which  resounded  far  beyond  the  depths  of 
the  bandanna  handkerchief,  and  was  meant  perhaps  to  be  seuti- 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  97 

mental.  "  I  think  Miss  Lilian  resimbles  her  grately,"  he  said 
gravely,  yet  with  a  quiet,  humorons  twinkle  in  his  eyes  at  my  sud- 
denly evinced  annoyance,  "  but  maybe  she  was  the  prittiest  afther 
all,"  he  added,  by  way  of  bringing  me  to  my  senses  again,  "  espaa- 
cially  in  regard  of  the  hair."  And  he  leered  maliciously  at  me. 
He  had  fathomed  my  weakness  at  once. 

"  Do  you  think  Dame  McCormick  will  live  through  the  night, 
Dr.  Quintil  ?"  I  asked,  with  a  serious  air,  in  my  anxiety  to  rid 
myself  of  this  terrible  old  bore,  whose  propinquity  was  becom- 
ing intolerable,  yet  scarcely  able  to  repress  a  smile. 

"  I  can't  tell,  upon  my  word,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  When 
I  last  saw  her  she  raved  wildly  at  me  for  offering  her  some  senna 
tea,  and  made  threats  which  I  considered  dangerous  in  her  con- 
dition of  mind.  She  is  evidently  flighty,  and  the  last  sounds  she 
uttered  as  I  left  the  room  were  an  imitation  of  the  peculiar  notes 
of  her  favorite  fowl." 

"  God  bliss  me,  I  must  see  to  this,"  bustled  the  priest.  "  She 
may  want  the  extrame  unction  this  blissed  night,  for  otherwise 
the  dame  is  well  prepared  to  die,  having  confissed  reglar  these 
tin  years  back,  and  mighty  free  confessions,  too,  she  makes."  And 
he  left  us  hurriedly. 

"  Of  course  when  the  dame  reiterated  the  syllable  'quack'  half  a 
dozen  times,  Lily,  she  was  not  applying  it  to  me  at  all,  but  speak- 
ing wildly,  remorsefully  perhaps,  in  the  language  of  a  race  she 
has  injured  deeply,  during  her  long  kitchen  experience.  I  did  not 
for  a  moment  appropriate  the  appellation,  although  it  was  accom- 
panied by  a  shower  of  senna  tea  hurled  at  me,  teacup  and  all,  as 
I  retreated  briskly  behind  the  open  door.  I  narrowly  escaped  a 
deluge." 

"  What  a  virago  she  is,  to  be  sure  !" 


98  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

"  A  part  of  our  fate,  I  do  believe,"  he  rejoined,  "  and  am 
therefore  submissive.  Yet  how  have  we  earned  such  an  infliction  ? 
It  is  a  very  mysterious  order  of  Providence  to  me,  that  such  an 
old  witch  should  be  thrust  upon  us  by  circumstances  and  made  a 
part  of  our  very  lives,  an  instrument  of  daily  torture." 

"  She  is  what  they  call  a  '  cross,'  I  suppose,  in  the  cant  of  com- 
mon folks.  What  a  Frenchman  would  call  a  cross  '  bonne.' " 

"  Aye,  a  very  cross  cross,  Lily,  a  sort  of  double  cross,  harder 
to  bear  than  common  crosses,  and  that  I  am  very  sorry  we  ever 
came  across."  So  ended  this  cross  fire. 

There  were  subjects  on  which  the  dame  did  not  touch,  however, 
as  we  found  later,  in  all  of  her  "  free  confessions,"  as  he  called 
them,  even  to  Father  Conrad. 

This  man,  so  ignorant  of  mythology  as  to  confound  Silenus 
with  a  saint,  and  think  himself  complimented  by  being  likened  to 
him  ;  so  limited,  too,  in  information  as  to  appear  almost  idiotic 
on  some  subjects,  and  whose  common  conversation  betrayed  both 
vulgarity  and  egregious  vanity,  was  in  the  pulpit  a  successful  and 
fiery  speaker,  for  the  lower  orders  at  least ;  among  whom  his 
practical  benevolence  made  him  idolized,  and  for  whom  he  did  not 
hesitate  to  perform  the  most  devoted  offices  in  times  of  sickness 
and  adversity.  He  was  besides  a  thorough  rudimental  Latin 
scholar  and  effective  teacher,  and  his  success  as  a  political  ally 
made  him  sought  by  partisans  of  desperate  causes,  and  filled 
his  purse  slily  yet  unceasingly  ;  a  purse  which  he  in  turn  clenched 
avariciously,  and  opened  prodigally,  as  suited  his  different 
moods  and  interests  best.  He  was  said  to  be  a  humorist,  ard  if 
so,  we  were  probably  the  party  quizzed.  This  much  is  certain. 
He  now  occupies  a  secure  and  confidential  position  in  his 
church,  aud  was  considered  an  able  if  unscrupulous  man  ;  useful 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOTJVEKIE.  &J 

as  a  tool  or  factotum  in  that  comprehensive  institution,  where 
every  man  has  his  peculiar  and  appointed  path  of  duty,  and 
is  appreciated  according  to  his  zeal  and  fidelity  in  his  own  de- 
partment, however  lowly  or  unimportant  that  mav  seem  to  the 
uninitiated. 

"'•'=»  :; 


190  THE   HOUSEHOLD   O1T  BOCTVfiaiS. 


CHAPTER  IT. 

AND  now  thirty  days  were  come  and  gone,  since,  in  the  silence 
of  the  night,  and  by  means  never  fully  explained  to  us,  the  Master 
of  Bouverie  passed  from  its  walls,  and  baffled  the  sentinels  beneath 
them.  Still  no  tidings  of  his  fate  reached  us  ever  so  remotely, 
and  the  reasonable  conviction  strengthened  that  he  had  gone 
abroad,  as  time  passed,  and  pursuit  failed  rather  than  faltered ; 
for  still  the  bloodhounds  of  the  law  were  out,  stimulated  afresh  by 
the  large  reward  recently  offered  by  the  governor  for  his  appre- 
hension, and  still  our  solitude  was  threatened  and  even  invaded  by 
their  presence. 

Something  of  security,  however  sad  and  unsatisfactory,  had 
commenced,  nevertheless,  to  replace  the  nervous  anxiety  of  our 
earlier  condition.  We  began  to  assure  ourselves  of  his  safety,  and 
to  look  forward  to  letters  confirming  our  convictions ;  and, 
although  the  subject  was  never  discussed,  barely  alluded  to,  from 
some  tacit  understanding  among  us,  yet  a  secret  gratulation  pos- 
sessed every  spirit,  and  betrayed  itself  in  renewed  interest  and 
occupation. 

The  cold,  grey  shadow  was  slowly  being  lifted  from  my  grand- 
mother's face.  I  had  even  seen  her  smile,  and  something  of  appe- 
tite returned  to  her  ;  again  the  pleasant  evening  intercourse  was 
resumed,  and  the  long  neglected  lamps,  which  seemed  in  honor  of 
Fabius  at  first  to  have  grown  dun  and  sepulchral,  were  retrimmed 
by  Bianca,  to  shine  in  all  their  pristine  brilliancy.  The  friendly 
game  of  chess  or  backgammon,  the  chat  over  the  newspapers,  the 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEBIE.  101 

discussion  of  books  and  politics,  again  came  to  our  assistance,  and 
helped  to  dissipate  the  mournful  monotony  of  our  existence.  The 
social  wound  seemed  to  be  healing. 

"  This  is  something  like  old  times,"  Jasper  wrote  to  me,  in  the 
Bhort-hand  that  flashed  from  his  fingers  almost  with  the  rapidity 
of  spoken  words.  "  If  it  were  not  for  the  presence  of  that  goblin, 
Pat  McCormick,  at  the  table,  and  the  absence  of  good  old  Fabius 
— heaven  rest  his  soul ! — I  could  realize  that  matters  were  un- 
changed, and  that  a  vision  had  possessed  us.  Say,  Lih'an,  was  it 
not  all  a  dream  ?" 

"  A  dream,  Jasper  !  Oh,  would  that  I  could  think  so  1  A 
terrible  night-mare  even,  from  which  it  were  happiness  to  awake. 
You,  who  never  knew  him,  can  realize  nothing  of  these  horrors. 
Yet  you  must  not  undervalue  our  suffering,  nevertheless." 

"  I  have  forgiven  him,"  he  wrote,  "  I  pity  him,  I  would  save 
him,  for  your  sake,  at  the  risk  of  my  own  life.  Christ,  himself, 
could  ask  110  more  of  me." 

As  I  read  these  words  with  eyes  moistened  with  tears,  Pat 
McCoTiuick  opened  the  door,  cap  in  hand,  and  covered  with  snow, 
and,  standing  without,  thrust  in  his  red  and  grinning  face. 

"He's  done  come,  Miss  Lilian,"  he  said,  pointing  backward 
with  his  thumb  ;  and  before  I  could  utter  a  word  of  question  or 
surprise,  my  grandfather  stood  before  us. 

"Qnintil,  your  gold,  untouched  1"  he  said,  throwing  the  purse 
forward  on  the  table.  "  Camilla,  my  love,  I  have  come  back  to 
die  with  you,"  and  he  advanced  feebly  toward  her,  extending  his 
hands. 

"  Oh,  Bouverie  !— oh,  my  husband  1 — art;  you  here  ?"  she  ex- 
claimed, as  rising  to  meet  him,  she  threw  her  arms  around  his 
emaciated  form,  and  drew  him  to  her  close  embrace.  It  was  th« 


102  THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE. 

first  time  I  had  ever  heard  her  accord  him  that  sacred  title,  or 
witnessed  the  slightest  endearment  between  them. 

All  barriers  seemed  prostrate  now.  They  stood  together,  locked 
in  each  other's  arms,  her  heavy  sobs,  and  his  deep-drawn  breathing 
alone  breaking  the  oppressive  silence.  Dr.  Quintil  seemed  deeply 
agitated,  his  color  went  and  came,  his  hands  were  clenched,  his 
manly  breast  heaved  almost  as  with  convulsive  emotion. 

Was  he  grieved  ? — was  he  angry  ? — was  he  yielding  only  the 
meed  of  sympathy  ?  Or  did  dark  and  stormy  memories  sweep 
over  him,  at  that  moment,  with  waves  that  carried  all  before  them 
in  their  irresistible  strength  ?  I  never  knew. 

Jasper  and  I  stood  apart,  hand  clasped  in  hand,  not  without 
tears  and  choking  emotion,  speechless,  pitying  spectators  of  a 
scene  no  words  could  describe,  no  heart  withstand,  no  witness 
ever  forget. 

Even  the  poor  idiotic  medium  of  so  much  uncomprehended  emo- 
tion blubbered  in  unmeaning  sympathy,  gaping  against  the  wall 
in  his  snow-covered  garments  for  c.  time,  then  slipping  quietly 
away. 

When  at  last  my  grandmother  drew  her  unexpected  guest  to  a 
seat  by  the  fire,  and  had  resumed  her  own  beside  him,  still  silent 
and  weeping,  my  grandfather  extended  his  hands  to  me,  speaking 
the  one  word  that  was  ever  the  sweetest  music  to  me,  in  his  soul- 
Btirring  voice — "  Lilian  !" 

I  was  at  his  side  in  a  moment,  kneeling  beside  him,  embracing 
him,  kissing  his  hands,  weeping  wildly  over  him,  with  such  unut- 
terable compassion  ! 

When  I  looked  around  again,  Jasper  had  withdrawn,  nor  did 
he  ever  again  stand  in  my  grandfather's  presence.  For  an  instant 
this  disappea ranee  pained  me — 1  had  hoped  so  much  from  the 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  103 

Influence  of  the  moment ;  but,  recovering  myself  as  quickly  as  I 
could,  I  looked  earnestly  at  the  pallid  face  before  me,  faltering 
forth  almost  involuntarily  the  feelings  with  which  it  filled  me. 

"  You  are  ill,  grandfather — oh,  so  changed  !" 

He  smiled  that  brilliant  smile,  so  irrelevant  to  all  the  features 
of  his  condition  and  ours  ;  then  bending  his  head  low,  he  whispered 
in  my  ear : 

"Ay,  darling,  I  am  ill,  even  unto  death  ;  but  so  happy  to  be  at 
home  again  that  everything  else  is  forgotten." 

In  truth,  thin  as  he  ever  was,  he  was  now  worn  to  skeleton  lean- 
ness, and  the  articulations  of  his  hand  bones  were  almost  as  distinct 
as  if  no  flesh  had  intervened  between  them  and  the  shrouding  skin. 

"  Erastus,  how  much  you  must  have  suffered,"  my  grandmother 
said,  at  last,  "to  be  willing  to  place  yourself  again  hi  voluntary 
jeopardy.  Oh,  Bouverie  !  I  had  hoped  you  were  by  this  time  on 
the  high  seas,  on  your  way  to  merge  your  existence  in  some  great 
European  city,  where  loss  of  identity  might  be  safety.  This  waa 
your  wisest  course  ;  why  have  you  not  pursued  it  ?  Oh,  why 
have  you  returned  to  dare  your  doom  ?" 

"  To  be  with  you,  Camilla,  until  death,"  he  made  answer,  in 
his  clear  pathetic  tones. 

"  Erastus,  this  was  madness  1" 

"  What  else  remained  ?"  he  asked.  "  Would  you  have  had  me 
die  without  seeing  your  face  and  Lilian's  again  ?  I  felt  that  I 
could  dare  any  fate  rather  than  forego  such  a  privilege." 

"  Why  did  you  not  send  for  us  sooner  than  run  such  fearful 
risks  ?  You  have  been  ill  ;  where  hr .ve  you  lain  concealed  ? 
Who  tended  you  through  your  illness  ?  Have  you  found  friends, 
or  has  Bishop  Clare  at  last — But  I  see  that  you  are  exhausted : 
do  not  speak  yet.  Later,  you  will  tell  us  everything." 


104  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

She  bathed  his  brow  with  the  cologne  I  handed  her,  then  rose 
to  seek  a  reviving  cordial,  and  some  food  suitable  to  his  delicate 
palate,  and  placing  them  before  him,  she  pressed  him  to  partake. 

He  drank  the  cordial  ;  but  put  the  conserved  fruit  and  biscuit 
aside.  "  I  cannot  eat,"  he  said,  as  he  laid  back  his  head  in  the 
deep-cushioned  chair  he  had  last  occupied  as  Father  Conrad  ;  and 
taking  her  hand,  drew  it  across  his  brow,  then  pressed  it  to  his 
lips.  "  But  I  am  strengthened  now  to  answer  your  inquiries. 
No  ;  do  not  withdraw  your  hand  ;  it  is  life  to  me  to  hold  it  again, 
and  if  truth  be  told,  such  gift  will  not  long  be  mine,  on  any 
terms."  He  held  her  fingers  now  pressed  closely  to  his  bosom. 

She  bent  over  him  tenderly,  anxiously;  I  saw  that  her  tears 
fell  fast.  She  recognized,  perhaps  for  the  first  time  in  his  case, 
the  truth  that  lay  veiled  beneath  his  careless  manner  and  reckless 
words.  The  awful  and  unmistakable  shadow  was  over  him  at 
last. 

And  now  again  came  the  inquiry,  made  this  time  in  low  and 
tear-stifled  accents,  for  which  he  seemed  to  wait  before  com- 
mencing his  recital. 

"  Erastus,  where  have  you  been  concealed  all  this  time  ?" 

"  In  a  cave  in  the  woods  of  Croften,"  he  replied. 

"  I  have  not  been  out  of  sight  of  the  chimneys  of  Bouverie 
since  I  left  you  ;  that  is,  I  should  not  have  been  but  for  the 
intervention  of  the  forest,  still  partially  clothed  with  leaves. 
Often  in  my  boyhood,  I  have  stood  in  snow-time  on  the  rising 
ground  above  the  cave,  and  seen  the  dome  of  Bouverie  through 
the  naked  branches.  It  was  comfort  to  me  to  remember  this, 
even  when  hidden  away  in  the  depths  of  the  cavern.  My  old 
shelter  from  storm  and  cold  availed  me  well  in  the  extremity  in 
which  I  found  myself  on  the  first  morning  of  my  flight.  Day 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.          105 

broke  over  me  in  its  vicinity,  and  fainting  nature  warned  me  to 
proceed  no  further.  I  was  ill,  overpowered  with  mental  and 
physical  wretchedness,  and  putting  aside  the  dense  brushwood 
that  grows  about  the  mouth  of  the  cavern  now,  and  makes  it  so 
secure  a  hiding-place,  I  went  into  its  depths. 

I  made  my  bed  of  the  leaves  that  had  drifted  in  from  tune  to 
time  through  the  interstices  of  the  undergrowth,  and  coiled 
myself  upon  it,  covered  with  my  cloak  (yours  rather,  Quintil)  and 
infinitely  chill  and  miserable. 

I  was  too  ill  to  eat  what  food  I  had  about  me,  and  but  for  the 
medicine  I  carried,  must  have  sunk  at  once  under  the  accumula- 
tion of  evils  that  crowded  thick  about  me.  At  last  I  slept. 
When  I  awoke,  a  cheerful  fire  of  fagots  was  blazing  in  one 
corner  of  the  cave,  which  partially  illumined  its  walls,  and  an 
uncouth  lad  was  standing  between  me  and  the  flames.  He  was 
one  of  a  party  of  scouts,  sent  out  in  pursuit  of  me,  and  he  had 
been  "  promised  gold,"  he  said,  to  find  and  secure  me,  so  that  I 
might  fall  into  the  hands  of  Hernshaw. 

A  day  had  elapsed,  it  seemed,  since  I  had  left  Bouverie  ;  a  day 
of  miserable  unconsciousness  of  time  to  me.  This  much  I  had 
gained  at  least.  But  to  be  trapped  in  a  cave  after  all  like  a 
hunted  hare,  pooh — it  was  too  dispiriting  !  I  raised  myself  on 
one  arm,  and  grasped  my  revolver.  The  prince  of  pistols  was 
dry,  and  in  readiness  I  knew.  I  pointed  it  to  the  unconscious 
boy,  my  finger  was  on  the  trigger — when  " 

"  Oh,  grandfather!"  I  interrupted  ;  "would  you  have  killed  our 
poor,  faithful  fool  !"  I  clasped  my  hands. 

"  When  I  reflected,"  he  continued,  as  if  he  had  not  heard  me ; 
"  that  the  report  might  summon  those  who  were  without,  uncon- 
scious still,  probably,  that  I  had  been  discovered,  I  lowered 


106  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

the  weapon  again,  as  the  thought  occurred  to  me.  There  wai 
still  time  to  act. 

"  '  What  brought  you  here  ?'  I  asked  ;  '  and  how  do  you  know 
who  I  am  ?  What  makes  you  suppose  that  I  am  Mister 
Bouverie  ?' 

"  'Oh,  I  knows  you,  Master  Boobery,'  he  answered,  and  he  gave 
some  confused  account  of  having  crept  up  a  dark  ladder,  after 
Fabius,  I  believe  ;  and  having  seen  the  old  '  Play-acter  man,'  as 
he  called  me,  '  in  his  red  gownd,  and  the  moon  and  stars  around 
him  ;'  and  I  soon  found  that  he  was  the  idiot  grandson  of  our  old 
cook,  Polly  McCormick  (a  child,  as  I  remember  him,  of  whom  I 
had  heard  you  speak  so  often  since,  Lilian),  and  some  vague  hope 
of  inherited  fidelity,  as  well  as  avarice,  began  to  animate  my  bosom. 

"  '  Boy,'  I  said  ;  '  the  officer.8  have  offered  you  gold  to  find  me, 
and  tell  them  where  I  am.  I  will  give  you  all  this  ;'  and  I  held 
up  your  purse,  Quintil,  through  the  open  meshes  of  which  the 
gold  sparkled  temptingly  ;  '  if  you  will  hide  me  from  them.' 

"  'An't  you  done  hid  already  ?'  he  asked,  with  a  vague  smile, 
as  he  peered  into  my  face.  '  Who  can  find  you  here  but  the 
•witches  ?  But  the  gold — you  will  give  me  that  anyhow,'  he 
added  eagerly,  extending  his  hand. 

"  Even  in  my  feeble  condition  the  mixture  of  the  Yahoo  princi- 
ple in  the  poor,  faithful,  yet  witless  element  made  me  laugh.  It 
was  a  splendid  study  for  the  satirist,  or  mental  philosopher.  How 
Swift  would  have  enjoyed  it  1 

"  'Yes,  boy,  if  you  will  stay  with  me  and  take  care  of  me,  until 
I  am  able  to  go  back  to  Bouverie.  I  care  not  who  finds  me 
then  !'  for,  Camilla,  I  had  abandoned  all  idea  at  once  and  forever 
of  further  flight,  and  a  determination  to  bide  my  fate,  had  taken 
full  possession  of  me" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  107 

"  Oh,  Bouverie  !"  she  groaned  ;  "what  recklessness  you  hare 
manifested  throughout." 

"  Can  you  not  understand  the  feeling,"  he  asked,  gaily  ;  "  that 
makes  a  man  walk  up  to  a  cannon,  when  its  mouth  is  pointed  to 
him,  and  he  sees  no  way  of  escape  ?  But  for  your  sake,  my  wife, 
my  daughter,  my  friend  (ay,  Quintil,  let  me  call  you  such),  I 
would  not  turn  on  my  heel  to  avoid  the  severest  penalty  of  the 
law.  There  has  been  a  great  revulsion  of  feeling  on  that  subject 
in  my  breast  lately  ;  but  let  us  not  talk  of  this  to-night.  Put 
aside  all  thought  of  to-morrow  in  this  happy  hour,  and  believe  me, 
that  I  have  courage  now  to  meet  any  doom  fate  has  in  store  for 
me.  Shall  I  proceed  in  my  narrative."  Her  mute  assent  en 
couraged  him  ;  yet,  he  paused  awhile  before  he  continued. 

"  My  adventures  have  been  few — a  trip  to  the  cave  of  Croften, 
and  back  again,  comprises  them  all.  I  began  to  fear,  however, 
that  my  old  safe  hiding-place  was  no  secret,  after  all,  until  Pat 
partly  reassured  me,  by  telling  me  he  had  discovered  it  accident- 
ally by  trailing  a  wounded  rabbit  with  his  dog  ;  and  that  he  had 
entered  it  now  to  elude  the  officers,  after  losing  them  in  the 
paw-paw  jungle  hard  by.  He  only  wanted  to  rest  and  warm,  as.-j, 
he  had  often  done  before,  until  night  should  come,  so  that  he 
might  creep  out  'unbeknownst,'  and  go  back  safely  to  Bouverie  ; 
and  he  drew  out  a  crust  and  a  bone,  which  he  offered  to  sharo 
with  me,  and  a  few  potatoes  which  he  thrust  into  the  fire  to  roast, 
and  sat  down  patiently  to  watch. 

'"I  keeps  my  walnuts  and  hickory-nuts  here,'  he  added, point- 
ing to  a  dark  pile  in  one  corner;  '  and  nobody  ever  steals  'em,  bo- 
cause  "  open  sesame  "  is  the  word.  I  hearn  Miss  Lilian  reading 
about  it  to  Dame  Bianca,  and  I  know  it's  all  true.  Shall  I  fetah 
Mrs  Lilian  to  wait  on  von  ?'  he.  said,  turning  suddenly  to  me 
21 


108  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOUVEEIK. 

"  '  Not  for  the  world,  Pat.  No  one  must  know  where  I  am  ; 
but  you  must  stay  with  me  as  much  as  you  can.' 

"  'I  must  tell  mammy/  he  said,  after  a  long  fit  of  musing.  '  If 
I  don't,  she  won't  let  me  come  back  no  more  ;  and  what  'ill  I  do 
for  victuals  if  I  stay  here  all  the  time  ?  I'll  go  back  home,  and 
come  again  to  you,  and  no  one  but  mammy  will  know.' 

"  'Tell  your  mammy  what  you  will,  Pat,'  I  said,  in  perfect  des- 
peration, and,  catching  at  the  clue  Lilian  had  given  me  to  his  cha- 
racter, I  added,  '  but  if  you  open  your  mouth  to  any  one  else,  I 
will  command  all  my  witches  to  catch  you,  and  peel  every  particle 
of  your  skin  off.  Do  you  hear  me,  Pat  ?' 

"  '  I  hears  you,  Master  Boobery,'  he  replied,  with  unaffected  and 
fearful  reverence. 

"  '  But,  on  the  contrary,  if  you  hold  your  tongue,  and  do  what 
I  wish,  you  shall  have  the  gold,'  and  I  jingled  it  before  him,  eo 
that  the  red  light  of  the  fire  flashed  over  the  coins.  '  I  am  a 
powerful  witch  myself,  you  know,  Pat,'  I  added.  '  You  saw  how 
easily  I  threw  off  the  top  of  the  house  the  other  day.' 

"  He  seemed,  after  this,  to  be  absorbed  in  a  fit  of  deep  musing, 
shaking  his  head  from  tune  to  time,  and  glancing  at  me.  I  lost 
dght  of  him  at  this  crisis  ;  a  deep  sleep  fell  over  me,  and,  when  I 
waked  up,  another  day  had  passed — Pat  told  me  this,  for  my  run- 
down watch  had  long  been  silent — during  which  he  had  gone 
home,  and  returned  in  darkness,  bringing  with  him  some  '  yarbs,' 
as  he  called  them,  which  his  mammy  thought  would  do  me  good  ; 
some  bread  and  tea,  and  other  simple  refreshments.  A  tin  kettle 
was  simmering  on  the  fire,  and  1  found  myself  covered  closely 
with  blankets.  Great  exhaustion  had  by  this  time  taken  posses- 
sion of  me  ;  I  thought  myself  dying.  I  dimly  recollect  struggling 
against  the  stream  of  tea  which  the  lad  insisted  on  pouring  down 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIK.  109 

iny  throat  from  the  spout  of  a  pitcher,  and  afterward  dozing  off 
under  the  regular  patting  of  his  hands  upon  my  shoulders,  and  the 
mysterious  hushing  of  his  voice  like  the  buzz  or  drone  of  a  jews- 
harp.  It  is  probable  that  I  lost  consciousness  then  for  several 
days.  Indeed  I  remember  little  more  until  I  commenced  to  revive 
as  from  a  deep  sleep,  and  soon  afterward  knew  by  sensations  of 
lassitude,  and  the  presence  of  profuse  perspiration,  that  the  fierce 
fever  was  broken,  under  which  I  had  been  laboring. 

"  When  I  commenced  to  regain  my  strength,  which  was  not 
until  after  the  lapse  of  weeks,  the  good  creature  tempted  me  with 
the  choicest  dainties  of  your  store-room,  Camilla,  stolen  by  his 
mammy's  orders,  he  said,  and  a  few  bottles  of  Quintil's  best  port 
wine,  soon  brought  me  to  my  feet  again.  I  have  never  been  a 
wine-bibber,  so  wine  is  the  true  medicine  for  me  that  nature  in- 
tended it  to  be  universally  ;  but  perhaps,  after  all,  the  elixir  was 
the  best  agent  in  restoring  me,  as  long  as  it  lasted.  You  must 
fill  my  vial  again,  Lily,  from  the  gallipot  in  the  iron  cupboard  in 
the  winter  bedroom.  It  is  safe,  I  suppose  ?  But  I  digress  ;  let 
me  conclude.  To-night,  Pat  led  me  home,  covered  with  blankets, 
and  lying,  rather  than  sitting,  on  Dr.  Quintil's  gentle  horse. 

"  As  we  emerged  from  the  forest,  a  band  of  mounted  men 
dashed  by  me  ;  but,  taking  me  for  a  woman,  probably,  hi  my  long 
wrappings,  they  did  not  accost  us  ;  or,  perhaps,  in  their  mad  haste, 
did  not  even  perceive  us.  Yet,  Pat  tells  me,  these  were  Hernshaw 
and  his  band." 

"  They  will  be  here,"  said  my  grandmother,  "before  many  days 
— many  hours,  perhaps — and  arrest  is  death  I  Oh,  Bouverie,  why 
did  you  place  yourself  in  such  peril  again  ?"  and  she  wrung  her 
hands  bitterly. 

"Camilla,"  he  said,  in  a  voice  of  touching  tenderness,  " 


110  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

I  entreat  you  to  suffer  me  to  enjoy  the  infinite  happiness  that  fills 
my  being  to-night,  and  which  is  worth  to  me  more  than  the  whole 
existence  of  the  last  twelve  years.  There  is  an  essence  of  time  as 
well  as  of  roses,  my  love,  that  compresses  years  into  moments,  even 
as  it  takes  whole  gardens  to  yield  a  vial  of  otto.  Such  is  this 
night  to  me." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  alarming  symptoms  became  manifest.  It 
was  with  difficulty  that  Dr.  Quintil  kept  off  the  impending  swoon, 
and  recalled  his  fast  fleeting  pulse  by  the  use  of  stimulants  and 
restoratives. 

"  He  is  exhausted,"  he  said.  "  Let  a  bed  be  prepared — let  him 
rest." 

"  Yes,  a  Christian  bed  would  seem  a  paradise  to  me,"  he  mur- 
mured, reviving  wonderfully  under  the  stimulants  that  had  been 
administered.  "  Paradise  !  after  the  hard  bed  of  leaves  to  which 
my  frame  has  been  consigned  of  late.  But  oh,  Camilla,  not 
there  !"  and  he  pointed  upward  with  a  wild  energy,  and  a  quiver- 
ing hand.  "  Place  me  no  more,  I  entreat  you,  in  that  great  lonely 
room — that  living  sepulchre,  nor  on  the  hearse-like  bedstead, 
where  I  have  spent  so  many  wretched,  sleepless  nights,  haunted 
by  those  faces — those  terrible  shadows,  and  wrestling  on,  like 
Jacob,  till  the  dawn.  Let  me  lie  where  I  can  hear  human 
breathing,  and  call  on  those  I  love,  should  the  death  struggle 
come  over  me.  You  will  not  refuse  me  this  boon,  Camilla  ?" 

"  Oh,  no — no — no,  Erastus  ;  for  God's  sake  be  calm.  I  can- 
not, cannot  bear  it — nor  can  you  1" 

So  speaking,  she  left  the  room  to  make  preparations  manifestly 
for  his  comfort.  Bianca  had  been  summoned  before,  and  when  I 
entered  my  grandmother's  chamber  to  assist  if  possible  in  her 
arrangements,  the  attendant  was  pntt.ing  the  eider-down  quilt  of 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          Ill 

blue  satin,  he  loved  for  its  warmth  and  lightness,  on  the  couch, 
which  had  been  stretched  before  the  blazing  wood  fire  for  our 
wanderer's  reception. 

My  grandmother  was  walking  the  room  when  I  entered,  with 
her  head  thrown  back,  and  her  hands  clasped  behind  it  tightly,  as 
if  to  sustain  it,  her  handkerchief  was  thrown  over  her  brow  and 
eyes,  while  bitter  groans  escaped  from  her  pale  and  parted  Hps. 
It  was  as  if  the  great  deeps  of  her  soul  were  broken  up,  and  the 
tempest  surged  at  last  with  unrestrained  power.  I  had  never  seen 
her  exhibit  emotion  like  this  before,  and  I  shrank  from  the  room 
appalled. 

It  was  not  many  moments,  however,  before  she  followed  me, 
calm,  collected,  almost  cheerful  hi  appearance,  as  she  extended 
her  hand  to  the  worn  sufferer  hi  the  chair,  and  offered  her  assist- 
ance to  lead  him  to  his  chamber;  and  in  the  low,  soft  bed,  of 
which  I  have  spoken,  we  laid  his  ill  and  emaciated  frame  to 
rest. 

Throughout  that  weary  night,  and  many  more,  we  watched 
beside  him,  for  he  was  racked  with  fearful  coughing  spells,  and 
almost  insupportable  pangs  at  intervals,  and  consumed  by  fever, 
which  left  him  toward  morning  ever  languid  and  exhausted.  His 
present  sufferings  demanded  all  our  care,  and  shut  away  more 
effectually  than  aught  else  could  have  done  our  anxiety  for  the 
near  future  so  laden  with  our  doom. 

Thus  passed  a  day  and  night,  at  the  expiration  of  which 
'3ishop  Clare  came  again  to  Bouverie. 

"  Throw  open  the  window,  and  glorify  the  room,"  said  genial 
Sidney  Smith  ;  and  truly  as  seemed  the  radiant  revivifying  sun  to 
him  did  the  coming  of  Bishop  Clare  appear  to  us,  the  sad  and 
grief-bewildered  denizens  of  Bouverie. 


112  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

Oh  !  sympathy — oh,  genuine,  disinterested  friendly  fellowship, 
is  not  your  price  above  rubies  ?  What  other  salve  does  earth 
contain  for  the  wounded  spirit  or  the  blight  of  misfortune  ?  How 
could  we  live  and  bear  our  troubles,  but  for  the  pitying  tenderness 
of  our  fellow-creatures  ?  How  but  for  such  visible  types  of  him 
believe  that  our  Lord  himself  had  love  and  mercy  for  us  ? 

What  could  Bishop  Clare  do  for  us  now  ?  What  had  he  ever 
been  able  to  do  ?  and  yet  what  power  there  was  in  his  presence 
to  comfort,  to  uplift !  He  would  not  forsake  us,  we  knew,  though 
all  the  world  forsook,  nor  despise  us,  though  beaten  down  by  the 
fiercest  rains  of  adversity.  In  the  great  sorrow  that  brooded 
above  us  all,  Dr.  Quintil  even  clung  to  him  as  a  little  child. 
One  man  like  this  will  redeem  the  charge  of  perfidy  that  so  many 
love  to  bring  against  their  fellow-creatures,  with  what  bitter 
show  of  justice  we  are  all  made  to  feel  at  one  time  or  another  of 
our  lives. 

What  if  a  few  be  mean,  and  false,  and  ungrateful,  and  forget- 
ting noble  trust  and  benefit,  embrace  the  earliest  opportunity  of 
bestowing  the  Judas  kiss,  or  repeating  the  sin  of  Peter  ? 

Let  us  not  for  the  sake  of  such  as  these  repudiate  our  belief  in  the 
existence  of  sublime  sentiments  and  fast  fidelity.  Whatever  a 
man  feels  in  his  own  breast,  that  also  let  him  believe  may  be  met 
with  among  his  fellow-men,  whether  of  good  or  evil.  I  have  no 
power  to  say  "  I  would  give  my  life  for  my  friend,"  and  disbelieve 
another  man  who  makes  the  same  assertion,  any  more  than  a 
murderer,  by  the  very  molding  of  his  nature,  would  be  permitted 
to  discredit  the  existence  of  a  fellow-Cain. 

Whatever  God  has  made  me,  that  am  I  compelled  to  believe 
my  brother  to  be,  until  I  find  him  otherwise.  No  shame  then  in 
being  deceived  by  reposing  too  much  trust  and  affection,  what- 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIB.  113 

ever  the  confusion  and  the  disappointment  may  be  in  finding  such 
confidence  betrayed  ;  but  infinite  shame  in  deceiving,  in  over- 
throwing the  altars  on  which  such  incense  of  sweet  sacrifice  has 
been  laid  ;  in  stripping  life  bare  to  the  shivering  skeleton  within, 
and  rending  away  all  that  renders  social  existence  beautiful  or 
even  bearable. 

The  recreant  to  friendship  wants  opportunity  only  to  betray  his 
country  and  his  God  !  And  when  I  speak  of  friendship,  I  mean 
that  noble  fidelity  of  affection  that  forsakes  not  the  unfortu- 
nate, nor  the  misguided,  even  though  the  whole  world  forsakes 
them. 

I  mean  that  patience  that  forbears  ;  that  tenderness  that  for- 
gives ;  that  mercy  that  extenuates  ;  and  wanting  these,  there  is 
DO  sacredness  in  friendship,  no  meaning  in  the  word.  , 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVERIB. 


CHAPTER  V. 

WITH  that  wonderful  vitality,  which  seemed  in  his  case  almost 
a  physical  will,  my  grandfather  rallied,  when  hope  was  nearly 
extinct — if  hope  indeed  migjit  be  called  that  mixed  emotion  with 
which  we  regarded  his  condition — and  was  able  again  to  enjoy  the 
social  intercourse  afforded  him  by  the  presence  of  those  he  loved, 
and  even  to  speak  with  renewed  energy  of  his  plans  for  the 
fu'.ure.  His  sanguine  temperament,  momentarily  relieved  from 
the  pressure  of  pain,  rose  with  a  sudden  rebound  that  went  far 
beyond  any  possibility  that  existence  contained  for  him,  and 
saddened  those  who  had  craved  for  his  last  hours  a  meeker 
mood,  a  more  earnest  recognition  of  his  true  state,  temporal  and 
eternal. 

He  would  soon  be  well  enough  to  leave  Bouverie,  he  thought, 
and  journey  by  slow  stages  to  the  Atlantic  coast.  There  would 
be  no  difficulty  in  arranging  this  transportation.  He  had  a  plan 
that  would  baffle  any  detective,  that  he  would  make  plain  when 
ready  to  put  it  into  practice.  He  would  take  ship  as  soon  as 
possible  for  a  group  of  islands  in  the  Pacific  Ocean,  on  one  of 
which  he  had  lingered  spell-bound  for  days,  when  sent  out  on 
a  scientific  voyage  by  government.  It  was  there  that  he  would 
lay  down  his  hearthstone,  and  begin  a  new  life,  surrounded  by 
all  he  loved. 

His  brilliant  imagination  revelled  in  describing  this  lovely 
land,  with  all  its  resources  of  fertility,  scenery,  and  climate. 
He  gave,  with  wonderful  effect,  those  verses  of  Tennyson,  from 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  115 

'  Locksley  Hall,"  which  present  so  exquisite  a  picture  of  a  tropic 
island. 

He  spoke  of  the  natives,  few  and  kindly,  as  fit  proselytes  for 
Bishop  Clare  ;  yes,  he  should  go,  we  will  all  go,  and  form  an 
Utopian  colony  and  be  happy  and  prosperous,  and  great  together. 
He  would  build  a  palace  large  enough  to  contain  us  all,  a  kind 
of  mimic  Alhambra,  beautiful  exceedingly  ;  the  walls  and  ceilings 
of  which  should  be  relieved  with  branches  of  coral,  unchanged  by 
the  hand  of  man,  and  the  floors  paved  with  lava. 

The  balmy  and  elastic  air  was  life-giving,  and  his  bleeding  lungs 
would  heal  kindly  under  its  genial  influence.  Bishop  Clare,  even, 
should  grow  young  again,  and  life,  long  happy  life,  should  still  be 
ours  ! 

He  painted  his  glowing  pictures  with  a  master's  hand.  It  was 
almost  impossible  at  times  to  resist  the  earnestness  of  his  convic- 
tions. He  did  not  seem  to  look  upon  his  arrest,  should  it  take 
place  at  all,  as  a  matter  of  more  than  temporary  inconvenience 
Some  strange  obliquity  in  his  nature,  prevented  his  mental  vision 
from  embracing  his  true  position,  whether  before  God  or  man. 
Like  all  sophists  he  had  persuaded  himself,  that  what  he  wished 
for  was  right  and  even  possible.  He  did  not  look  in  the  face  the 
offended  majesty  of  the  law,  nor  hear  the  awful  verdict  ringing  in 
his  ears  :  "  Whoso  sheddeth  man's  blood,  by  man  shall  his  blood 
be  shed  !" 

And  while  we  trembled  at  every  approaching  footstep,  every 
shadow  on  the  threshold,  he  remained  composed  and  almost 
defiant  before  the  danger  that  menaced  him  continually.  At  times 
I  fancied  that  he  enjoyed  a  sense  of  relief  iu  the  feeling,  that 
concealment  was  no  longer  practicable  ;  and  that  to  be  again  thy 
acknowledged  centre  of  his  family,  even  for  a  few  days,  was  inovo 


116  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEBIE. 

precious  to  him  than  years  of  such  existence  as  he  had  known  in 
the  upper  chambers  of  Bouverie  ;  a  fleshly  ghost  whose  claims  to 
humanity  were  ignored  by  law,  and  tolerated  only  by  his  own 
household. 

In  the  temporary  freedom  from  suffering  that  he  enjoyed,  my 
grandfather  did  not  forget  his  promise  to  Pat  McCormick,  nor 
his  obligations  to  the  dame.  He  counted  out  from  the  pile  of 
gold  the  bishop  had  brought  him,  the  exact  number  of  coins  con- 
tained in  Dr.  Quintil's  purse,  and  bestowed  them  on  Pat,  who  did 
not  fail  to  exact  the  purse  also  (the  meshes  of  which,  woven  of 
green  and  silver,  had  particularly  pleased  his  fancy),  as  part  of  the 
contract.  During  all  his  years  of  concealment,  Dame  McCormick 
had  never  seen  her  master,  though  cognizant  of  his  presence  in  the 
house.  He  had  been  her  idol  from  boyhood,  yet  she  had  never 
breathed  his  name  through  that  long  ten  years'  captivity  ;  wait- 
ing anxiously,  it  seemed,  in  the  hope  that  he  would  ask  for  her 
some  day. 

That  day  had  come,  and  she  looked  upon  the  wreck  of  her  poor 
old  doting  dream.  There  was  a  woful  stare  on  her  haggard  face 
as  she  stood  by  the  couch,  and  clasped  the  long  bony  fingers  of 
its  occupant.  Once  she  lifted  her  knotty  left  hand  to  shade  her 
eyes,  as  if  to  reassure  herself  of  the  truth  of  the  vision  before 
her  ;  then  timidly  extending  it,  touched  the  extreme  ends  of  the 
long  steel  grey  locks  spread  over  the  pillow,  and  withdrew  a 
again  with  a  deep-drawn  sigh. 

"You  find  me  changed,  Polly,"  he  said,  understanding  the 
sorrowful  pantomime. 

"  And  it's  better,  I  am,  Master  Erastus,"  she  replied,  with  a 
little  sudden  courtsey. 

"  She  does  not  hear  you,  grandfather,"  I  whispered,  account- 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          117 

ing  thus  for  her  erratic  answer.  "  She  is  stone-deaf,  as  the  say- 
ing is." 

"  My  God,  how  hideous  she  has  grown  1"  he  murmured,  as  he 
withdrew  his  hand  with  a  fastidious  disgust,  that  did  not  escape 
her  attention.  "  Does  the  soul  always  turn  inside  out  in  this 
way,  I  wonder,  in  old  age  ?  If  so,  how  shall  I  look  at  seventy, 
Lily  ?  Nay,  how  must  I  look  even  now  ?" 

"Oh,  grandfather  !" 

"  Tell  her  to  go,  child  ;  and  give  her  that  gold-rimmed  eye- 
glass, if  you  choose  ;  anything  to  please  her,  so  that  she  goes 
speedily,  and  I  never,  never  see  her  again  !"  He  waved  his 
hand. 

She  understood  the  signal,  perhaps,  for  when  I  turned  toward 
the  place  she  had  occupied  to  give  her  the  eye-glass,  as  he  de- 
sired, she  was  gone.  A  moment's  consideration,  however,  showed 
me  a  better  substitute. 

A  shell  snuff-box  lay  on  the  stand  beside  him,  and  cramming 
this  with  the  gold-pieces  that  were  still  piled  there,  I  went  after 
her. 

"  Lily,"  he  cried  ;  "  this  is  sheer  extravagance,  not  to  be 
thought  of  ;  come  back  !" 

"  No,  grandfather,  the  poor  old  creature  shall  have  what  she 
loves  most,  for  nothing  else,  not  even  this  perhaps,  can  heal  the 
wound  you  have  inflicted.  Let  me  give  her  the  gold." 

"  Do  as  you  will,  then,  but  remember  we  shall  want  a  great 
deal  of  money  for  our  travelling  expenses— our  tropical  flight, 
you  know. 

I  hurried  away. 

Bianca,  who,  it  may  be  remembered,  had  ever  held  him  in 
aversion,  was  now  my  grandfather's  constant  attendant.  She 


118  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUYEKIE. 

was  certainly  most  dutiful  in  her  ministry  ;  but  I  remarked  that 
she  never  lifted  her  eyes  to  his  face,  and  spoke  to  him  as  seldom 
as  possible.  Her  Spanish  nature  rose  up  against  him  with  its 
implacable  tenacity  of  sorrowful  resentment,  and  to  her  he 
could  never  be  again  other  than  the  destroyer  of  her  husband's 
life. 

Oh,  God  I  how  heavily  the  current  of  lost  human  life  was  set- 
ting against  him  now  !  That  life  he  worshipped  so,  as  an 
abstract  thing,  had  so  adored  in  his  own  veins,  yet  so  recklessly 
disregarded  when  it  came  between  him  and  his  purpose,  whatever 
that  might  be.  What  a  strange  mixture  he  was  of  bareness  and 
tenderness,  of  persuasive  gentleness,  of  unscrupulous  cruelty,  of 
delicate  and  lofty  refinement,  and  of  more  than  savage  treachery 
and  tyranny!  How  entirely  the  word  "fascinating"  fitted  him 
whose  manner  was  full  of  witchery,  overcoming  as  it  did  in  all 
who  knew  him,  that  instinctive  warning  that  rises  up  in  the  heart 
of  most  men  in  the  presence  of  evil  1 

Yet  warped,  as  he  undeniably  was,  I  do  him  the  injustice  to 
speak  of  him  as  wholly  evil.  His  eyes  had  never  rested  with 
impure  glances  on  a  woman's  face,  his  self-love  had  never  led  him 
to  take  pecuniary  advantage  of  any  man,  nor  his  lofty  position  to 
depart  from  courtesy  toward  his  meanest  dependent.  These 
things  were  born  in  him,  with  the  noble  blood  that  on  one  side  at 
least  flowed  through  his  veins  ;  they  were  instincts  that  he  blindly 
obe)  cd — he  was  thus  far  a  gentleman. 

For  the  rest  he  had  cultivated  the  Eugene  Aram  spirit,  until 
his  sophistry  knew  no  limits,  and  his  hand  had  been  tainted  more 
than  once  I  fear  with  the  crowning  sin  of  humanity.  It  will  be 
seen  hereafter,  what  peculiar  passion  had  fostered  this  destructive 
element,  and  there  may  be  some  who,  after  reading  these  pages, 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIK.          119 

will  arise  from  their  perusal  with  the  comforting  conviction  that 
Erastns  Bouverie  was  a  madman  ! 

But  I  who  kiiew  him  well,  know  also  that  there  could  be  no 
question  in  his  case  of  mania,  unless  indulged  propensity  be 
worthy  of  the  name. 

I  who  idolized  him  have  no  such  excuse  to  offer.  The  splendid 
fabric  of  his  mind  was  built  above  an  earthquake,  and  might  at 
any  moment  have  rocked  to  ruin  from  the  beginning  ;  the  rum 
not  of  madness  but  of  wrong  doing.  Insanity  was  impossible 
with  hmi  in  the  very  nature  of  things.  There  was  something  too 
coolly  impetuous,  too  philosophic,  too  self-contained,  too  sarcastic 
in  his  turn  of  mind  to  assume  the  shape  of  madness,  even  when 
most  perverted. 

It  is  a  common  error  to  suppose  that  insanity  and  imagination 
go  oftenest  together.  I  for  one  have  rarely  seen  them  allied. 
The  boiler  seldom  bursts  that  possesses  a  safety  valve.  The 
inmates  of  lunatic  asylums  are  usually  persons  of  finely  strung 
nerves  and  limited  ideality,  the  most  unfortunate  of  all  combina- 
tions. It  is  the  effort  of  the  dumb  to  speak  that  oversets  the 
brain.  When  imagination  is  true  it  is  very  stable,  as  well  as 
very  demonstrative.  Could  anything  have  driven  Voltaire  crazy  ? 
Was  not  Byron  the  coolest  of  practical  self-lovers?  Who 
so  rational  as  epicurean  Tom  Moore?  Who  so  real  as  loyal 
Walter  Scott  ?  Who  so  self-poised  as  Wordsworth  and 
Southey  ? 

Overwork  did  indeed  soften  the  brain  of  some  of  these,  but 
that  might  come  from  any  continuous  exertion  ;  nursing  the  sick, 
setting  up  type,  reading  too  continuously,  digesting  ill,  being 
annoyed  by  debt,  puzzling  out  problems.  Madness  is  a  thing 
apart  from  this  physical  condition,  as  I  Consider  it.  The  idea  of 


120  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIK. 

Pope  going  crazy,  or  Shakspeare,  or  old  Sam  Johnson,  queer 
as  he  was,  seems  so  preposterous  that  it  makes  one  smile  to  think 
of  it. 

And  as  for  Charles  Lamb,  the  home  hero  of  the  age,  the  here- 
ditary taint  took  the  form  of  genius  with  him  evidently,  and 
found  its  safety  valve  thus,  or  he  might  have  been  as  wild  as 
Bridget  Elia.  Cowper,  too,  was  half  saved  from  madness  by  his 
genius  alone. 

There  stands  before  me,  as  well  as  I  can  remember,  but  one 
exception  to  this  ordinary  rule  in  the  history  of  the  gifted,  in 
the  person  of  Dean  Swift.  He  rises  to  my  imagination  like  a 
gigantic  blasted  oak-tree,  standing  out  lone  and  lightning  scathed 
in  the  midst  of  a  bare  and  desolate  heath,  a  mystery  and  a  warn- 
ing. Some  cleaving  curse  was  there. 

But  I  will  not  continue  a  theme  so  distasteful,  nor  stand  longer, 
scalpel  hi  hand,  trying  to  dissect  a  character  so  inscrutable  as  that 
of  the  hero  of  this  story.  Has  it  not  fallen  to  the  lot  of  some  who 
read  these  pages,  to  meet  in  their  own  peculiar  walk  of  life  a 
nature  of  which  his  may  stand  for  a  type  at  least  ? 

Is  he  the  only  man  who  has  consumed  gold  in  the  furtherance 
.  of  selfish  pursuits,  that  rightfully  belonged  to  those  around  him  ? 
Is  he  the  only  man  who  has  sacrificed  his  enemies  unscrupulously,  and 
thrown  shadow  and  mysterious  wretchedness  over  the  hearts  of 
his  friends  ?  Is  he  alone  in  having  been  a  fascinating  egotist, 
courteous  yet  crushing  in  all  of  his  requisitions  ?  Is  the  want  of 
Belf-reproach,  and  conscientious  scruple  that  existed  in  his  case 
peculiar  to  him,  or  a  part  of  all  self-worship  ? 

To  those  who  reject  him  as  a  reality  let  him  stand  as  a  repre- 
sentative at  least  of  a  class  of  men  not  common  in  our  country 
as  yet,  but  indissolubly  connected  with  all  societies  where  refine- 


JTHE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOTJVEEIE.  121 

ment  and  sophistry  make  an  artificial  atmosphere  around  the 
human  soul. 

Whoever  reads  these  pages,  will  read  the  work  of  one  no 
longer  among  the  living,  and  in  whose  veins  will  perish  the  last 
drop  of  the  blood  of  Bouverie. 

Something  of  the  great  spirit  of  truth  and  disinterestedness 
with  which  we  must  appear  before  the  judgment  bar  is  infused,  I 
think,  in  all  narratives  between  whose  publication  and  their  author 
the  grave  must  throw  its  interposing  shadow. 

With  any  other  feeling  than  this  at  work,  it  would  be  inex- 
cusable in  me  to  portray  things  precisely  as  they  were,  or  to 
undertake  such  examination  into  character  and  motives  as  I  find 
myself  pursuing  now. 

Yet  some  idea  of  my  devoted  love  for  him  I  censure  and  scru- 
tinize, may  be  formed  from  the  assertion  I  am  about  to  make — 
incredible  and  monstrous  as  it  might  seem  to  many,  true  as  it  cer- 
tainly is. 

I  hold  myself  perfectly  willing  in  spirit,  as  I  would  have  done 
in  flesh,  to  share  any  punishment  of  Erastus  Bouverie  that  eternal 
justice  may  yet  conceive  necessary  for  that  final  expiation,  if  by 
such  division  of  suffering  I  may  shorten  his  term  of  probation, 
or  assuage  his  sorrowful  remorse,  even  by  one  hour,  one  pang. 

For  such  is  my  comprehension  of  the  fire  hereafter,  and  the 
torture  of  the  offender  against  divine  patience,  and  such  my 
understanding  of  all  deep  affection  worthy  of  the  name. 


122          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 


CHAPTER  TL 

FIVE  days  had  passed  since  the  return  of  the  fugitive,  yet  were 
we  undisturbed — a  matter  of  surprise  to  all  but  one  of  our  house- 
hold. 

"  The  excitement  has  died  away,"  my  grandfather  said,  one  day. 
"  Even  that  scamp,  Smith,  has  relented,  or  come  at  last  to  a  sense 
of  his  true  interests.  Lily,  I  shall  be  suffered  to  die  in  peace." 

"  I  trust  so,  dear  grandfather,"  I  said,  weeping,  as  I  clasped  his 
extended  hand. 

"  Pshaw,  child,  crying  again  !  Why,  what  a  literalist  you  are  1 
Don't  you  see  how  much  better  I  am — how  much  stronger  ?  I 
ate  a  pint  of  jelly  to-day,  the  food  of  athletes,  you  know,  and  I 
shall  be  on  my  feet  again,  as  vigorous  as  a  panther,  before  two 
weeks.  Then  we  must  get  away  from  this  place.  If  the  worst 
comes  to  the  worst,  I  will  go  disguised  as  Mrs.  Smith." 

"  What  an  idea,  grandfather,"  I  said,  in  as  cheerful  a  voice  as  I 
could  command. 

"  We  have  only  to  outbid  the  governor,  you  know,  to  secure 
Smith's  services  again.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  send  for  the 
fellow,  and  have  a  talk  with  him,  and  bring  him  to  a  sense  of  his 
duty.  I  think  I  could  whistle  him  back  again  readily  enough,  and 
then  a  golden  chain  would  do  the  rest,  and  bind  him  fast,  you 
know.  My  plan  would  be  to  take  him  as  my  travelling  com- 
panion, for  a  time." 

I  listened  hi  silence — there  was  no  use  in  arguing  about  so  futile 
a  scheme. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  123 

"  Mrs.  Smith  is  tall  and  thin,  Lily,  I  believe  ;  about  my  figure, 
is  she  not  ?"  with  a  grim,  satiric  smile. 

"  Yes,  as  far  as  stature  goes,  nearly  so  ;  but  the  hair,  grand- 
father, and  the  squint,  and  the  ferrety  red  eyes.  What  will  you 
do  with  these  ?" 

"  Oh,  a  veil,  Lily — a  deep  blue  veil — doubled  like  that  you 
wear  to  protect  your  complexion  when  you  run  out  in  the  grounds; 
that  will  do  the  business  completely.  I  flatter  myself  I  am  not 
unlike,  in  general  mien  and  bearing,  the  gardener's  consort,  and, 
with  a  little  practice,  could  succeed,  I  fancy,  in  imitating  some  of 
her  ladylike  peculiarities."  His  eye  glittered  with  laughter. 

"  Patience,  dear  grandfather  !  do  not  talk  of  this.  Let  us  rely 
rather  on  the  forbearance  of  our  fellow-creatures,  this  time,  and 
the  incalculable  love  and  mercy  of  God." 

He  groaned  and  turned  away. 

Alas  !  I  knew  not  then  that  the  precincts  of  Bouverie  were 
strictly  guarded,  and  that  it  was  to  Governor  Staunton's  merciful 
wish  to  spare  our  feelings  that  we  owed  this  temporary  security. 
I  knew  not  that  my  grandfather's  convalescence,  should  it  ever 
take  place — and  to  the  wonderful  recuperative  powers  of  his  con- 
stitution no  change  seemed  impossible — would  be  the  signal  for 
fresh  intrusion  011  the  part  of  the  police,  and  the  certain  arrest  of 
him  who,  hi  the  eyes  of  the  law,  stood  forth  a  condemned  criminal. 

As  he  grew  better — for  he  certainly  did  improve  rapidly  for 
some  days,  after  his  first  severe  attack  was  over — he  resumed  his 
old  habit  of  reading  voraciously  whatever  came  in  his  way.  I 
found  him,  on  one  occasion,  turning  the  last  leaf  of  "  Morley  Ern- 
stein  " — then  a  late  publication,  I  believe. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  allegory,  Lilian,"  he  said,  "  and  treated  with 
much  delicacy  and  power." 


124  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BODVER1E. 

"Allegory,  grandfather  !  I  have  not  looked  upon  it  in  this 
light." 

"  Certainly,  child — there  is  but  one  hero.  The  good  and  evil 
genius  of  a  human  soul  are  typified  as  Morley  Ernstein,  and 
Count  Lieberg.  After  a  time  the  baffled  fiend  disappears, 
and  the  good  angel  triumphs.  It  was  otherwise  with  me,"  he 
added,  in  low  accents.  "The  dark  spirit  had  it  all  his  own 
way  in  my  case.  My  G-od — if  such  there  be — why  was  this 
permitted  ?" 

He  remained  mute  after  these  words,  with  his  eyes  closed,  and 
his  hands  clasped.  I  might  have  believed,  had  I  not  known  him 
too  well,  that  he  was  engaged  in  prayer.  However  it  was,  he 
wrestled  mentally,  that  was  evident,  and  sorely  too,  for  the  cold 
drops  of  perspiration  gemmed  his  brow. 

In  consequence  of  communications  made  to  Bishop  Clare  and 
Dr.  Quintil  by  Jasper,  who  had  informed  himself  of  the  active  sur- 
veillance held  over  Bouverie,  it  was'  determined  that  the  plan 
agitated  once  before,  should  now  be  carried  out,  and  that  an  ap- 
peal on  my  grandfather's  behalf  should  be  again  made  to  Governor 
Staunton.  This  measure  was  concluded  on,  without  the  consent 
or  even  knowledge  of  the  person  most  interested,  as  the  only 
course  remaining  open  to  his  friends,  and  steps  were  taken  to  put 
it  into  immediate  effect. 

A  petition  was  drawn  up  by  Dr.  Quintilian,  and  signed  by  all 
the  inmates  of  Bouverie.  My  grandmother  then  requested  Bishop 
Clare  to  become  its  bearer. 

"  No,  Camilla,"  he  replied,  advancing  to  the  sofa  on  which 
I  was  sitting  by  Jasper,  and  extending  his  hands  toward  us  as  if 
in  benediction  ;  "I  depute  this  office  to  that  youthful  pair. 
There  is  strength  in  youth,  and  innocence,  and  beauty,  to  move  a 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOtJVEBIE. 

heart  that  might  be  steeled  against  all  appeals  from  age  and  its 
dreary  attendants." 

"  It  would  ill  become  Luther's  son,"  broke  in  Dr.  Quintilian, 
"  to  appear  in  such  a  cause  !  If  needs  be,  Lilian  must  go  alone." 

He  spoke  angrily,  his  calm  eye  flashed,  and  he  waved  his  hand, 
as  if  putting  the  suggestion  Bishop  Clare  had  made  fiercely  aside. 
I  rose,  and  approached  him. 

"  Let  it  be  as  you  have  said.  I  will  go  alone,  if  you  think  it 
best." 

He  was  walking  the  floor  rapidly  now,  but  stopped,  as  I  laid 
my  hand  on  his  arm,  and  looked  into  his  face.  It  was  much 
agitated. 

"  No,  Lily,  no — that  would  never  do,"  he  whispered,  huskily. 
At  this  moment  I  felt  Jasper's  arm  encircling  me,  and  learned  his 
determination  first  from  its  firm  pressure,  and,  later,  from  the  rapid 
gesture  of  dissent  he  made  to  Dr.  Quintil. 

"Not  such  were  the  teachings  of  Christ,  your  Master,  and 
mine,  Paul  Quintilian,"  spoke  out  Bishop  Clare. 

"  Has  nature  no  voice — must  she  never  be  heard  ?  must  a  man's 
whole  life  be  spent  in  crushing  out  the  mighty  instincts  given  to 
him  by  his  God  as  his  birthright  ?  Do  years  of  self-denial  go  for 
nothing,  that  fresh  sacrifice  is  demanded  every  day  ?  You  go  too 
far  in  the  exercise  of  your  priestly  functions,  sir !  You  ask  the 
impossible — you  press  me  to  the  wall,  Bishop  Clare,  and  I  turn 
at  the  utmost  limits." 

He  had  thrown  off  my  hand  unconsciously,  and,  in  another 
moment,  had  left  the  room. 

My  grandmother  was  in  tears,  Jasper  cold  and  stern,  the  bishop 
confounded.  I,  only,  I  think,  entered  into  his  feelings,  and  com- 
passiojiated  his  struggle. 


126  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE,    - 

But  nothing  would  have  induced  me  to  accept  the  companion- 
ship of  Jasper,  without  his  full  consent  who  had  devoted  his  life 
to  him  as  few  fathers  would  have  done.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Jasper  urged  his  perfect  right  to  act  as  he  pleased  in  the  matter, 
and  his  duty  to  my  grandmother  and  to  me  as  paramount  to  any 
other.  I  was  inflexible  ;  and  it  was  arranged  at  last  that  I  should 
go  with  Bishop  Clare,  and  present  the  petition  as  the  nearest 
relative  of  the  unfortunate  Master  of  Bouverie. 

The  subject  was  not  suggested  again  to  Dr.  Quintilian,  and 
Jasper,  I  knew,  had  his  own  resolutions  formed,  from  the  peculiar 
expression  of  his  face,  and  the  increased  rigidity  of  his  always  too 
firmly  compressed  lips  ;  lips  that  had  never  been  agitated  by  a 
sound,  nor  relaxed  by  a  burst  of  laughter. 

A  few  days  more  passed  rapidly  away,  during  which  the  simple 
preparations  for  my  short  journey  were  completed  ;  for  the 
capital  town  in  which  Governor  Staunton  resided  was  only  twenty 
miles  distant  from  Bouverie. 

And  now  the  eve  of  that  day  had  arrived,  on  which  the  im- 
portant step  was  to  be  undertaken.  Still  the  uncle  and  nephew 
had  come  to  no  understanding,  and  my  fears  for  the  result  of 
what  I  knew  Jasper's  course  would  be,  almost  overpowered  me. 
Could  Dr.  Quintilian  forgive  such  open  rebellion  as  he  meditated  ? 
Would  the  old  fond  feeling  ever  be  revived  between  them,  should 
this  occur  ? 

I  confess  I  trembled  for  its  consequences.  How  greatly  I  warf 
relieved  need  not  be  asserted  when  I  received  the  following 
note,  handed  me  by  Bianca,  who  marvelled  when  she  saw  me 
weeping.  "'Has  anything  more  occurred,  dear  Miss  Lilian,"  sho 
said,  as  I  hastily  wiped  off  the  tears,  and  folded  away  the  pro 
cious  lines. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.       127 


"  Ob,  nothing,  nothing,  Bianca  ;  only  I  am  very  grateful,  very 
happy,  indeed.  Dr.  Quintil  consents  that  Jasper  shall  go  with 
me  to  entreat  for  my  grandfather." 

"  Oh,  is  that  all,  Miss  Lilian?"  she  bridled  slightly,  and  mut- 
tered as  she  left  me.  "I  thought  Dr.  Quintil  was  more  a  man 
of  his  word  than  that  comes  to.  Jasper,  indeed  !  Time  enough, 
I  think,  when  he  comes  to  his  speech  again,  that  he  robbed  him 
of  to  " 

Her  words  grew  inarticulate  as  the  door  interposed  between 
us  ;  but  her  grumbling  voice  was  heard  for  some  moments  more 
before  it  died  away.  Then  I  drew  out  again  and  reread  the  dear 
characteristic  note,  more  fondly  than  ever  did  maiden  passionate 
love-letter,  or  graceful  billet-doux  : 

"  Dear  Lilian,"  it  ran  ;  "  I  have  come  to  my  senses  at  last, 
and  look  upon  matters  with  the  eye  of  a  Christian,  I  trust,  after 
days  of  bitter  disquietude.  Child,  child,  may  you  never  have  to 
wrestle  with  malignant  feelings  as  I  have  done,  or  find  such  diffi- 
culty in  conquering  the  serpents  of  your  heart. 

"I  see  plainly  now  that  it  is  simply  Jasper's  duty  as  a  man  and 
a  gentleman  to  go  with  you,  who  are  more  than  life  to  him.  I 
have  very  nearly  reduced  him  to  the  sin  of  disobedience,  I  fear, 
against  his  father's  representative  on  earth  by  the  perverse  course 
I  have "  been  pursuing.  I  am  heartily  ashamed  of  myself,  and 
regret  the  past.  But  I  say  this  to  you  and  Jasper  only,  I  have 
no  such  concessions  to  make  to  your  grandmother,  or  Bishop  Clare. 

"  Enough  ;  I  withdraw  all  objection  to  Jasper's  presentation 
of  the  petition.  Yet,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  confess, 
Lilian,  that  I  rejoice  that  his  poor  lips  are  sealed.  Darling,  for- 
give me,  "  Yours  eternally, 

"  PAUL  QUJ.VTILUN  n 


128  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEBIE. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


EARLY  in  the  forenoon  of  a  fine  December  day,  Pat  McCormick 
led  two  caparisoned  horses  to  the  front  of  the  house  of  Bouverie, 
and  stood  patiently  awaiting  the  coming  forth  of  their  riders. 
One  of  these  horses  was  a  stately  coal-black  creature,  of  Andalu- 
sian  breed,  with  the  quivering  nostril,  the  kindling  eye,  the  small 
and  lofty  head  that  speak  so  unmistakably  of  blood  and  pedigree. 
He  was  equipped  with  a  lady's  saddle,  and  scarlet  reins,  and  had 
been  my  birthday  present  from  Dr.  Quintil,  in  the  month  of  May 
in  tli  at  year,  when  I  celebrated  my  eighteenth  anniversary  of  life. 
He  called  him  "  Ivanhoe."  The  other  horse  was  the  doctor's 
own  gentle,  but  strong  and  steady  beast ;  bay  in  color,  heavy  and 
compact  in  form,  and  fitted  either  for  saddle  or  harness ;  "  Cedric  " 
by  name.  He  had  been  caparisoned  for  Jasper's  use,  his  own 
beautiful  grey  mare,  "  Violet  Fane,"  having  been  badly  lamed 
some  weeks  before,  at  the  time  of  his  ride  after  Bishop  Clare. 

It  was  a  frosty,  sunshiny  day,  bracing  and  beautiful,  and  some- 
thing of  the  character  of  the  weather  had  infused  itself  into  my 
veins,  I  believe,  for  I  never  felt  more  calm,  more  strong,  more 
courageous,  than  when  I  undertook  that  journey.  Alas  !  before 
it  ended,  doubt  and  weariness,  and  despondency  had  replaced 
these  exhilarating  sensations  !  Dr.  Quintil  helped  me  to  the 
saddle.  "  You  look  like  victory  herself,  this  morning,  Lilian," 
he  said  ;  "  God  speed  you,  darling."  He  wrung  Jasper's  hand. 
"  You  will  go,"  ho  said,  "  to-night,  to  the  house  of  Mr.  Clavering, 
and  give  him  this  letter  ;  it  explains  everything.  He  lives  so 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          129 

quietly,  he  may  not  have  heard  of  this  matter  at  all.  I  think  he 
will  sign  our  petition,  and  I  know  that  in  old  times  he  was 
beloved  by  Staunton.  Be  this  as  it  may,  he  will  receive  you 
kindly  for  my  sake,  and  to-morrow  you  can  proceed  to  finish  your 
mission.  I  think,  Jasper,  you  remember  his  residence  ;  we  were 
once  there  together.  Take  care  of  Lilian;  farewell,  and  once 
again,  God  speed  you  both." 

He  waved  his  hand.  We  bounded  off,  and  soon  losing  sight 
of  the  green  lawn,  and  white  chimneys,  and  dome  of  Bouverie, 
we  found  ourselves  on  the  high  road  leading  to  the  capital,  whither 
tended  our  pilgrimage.  >  i  v  . 

Before  I  left  my  chamber,  I  had  stood  for  a  few  moments  sur- 
veying my  appearance  in  the  psyche  glass  it  contained,  with  an 
innocent  satisfaction  that  I  recall  now  with  a  smile,  not  derisive,  I 
hope,  as  if  the  young  girl  who  thought  herself  so  fair  in  her  dark 
green  habit,  and  grey  beaver  bat,  weighed  down  with  sweeping 
plumes,  under  which  heavy  braids  of  brown  hair  wei";  brought 
low  on  her  crimson  cheek  and  arching  neck,  were  other  than  the 
pale,  grave  woman  who  writes  these  pages,  dressed  in  mourning 
garments  of  woe  and  widowhood.  Yet,  smile  as  I  will,  I  cannot 
disown  the  identity  of  these  two,  even  while  I  disclaim  the  joy- 
ous vanity  of  youth  and  energy.  The  same  devoted  heart  beats 
in  my  bosom  now  as  on  that  glorious  winter  morning,  and  for  the 
self-same  objects,  the  same  deep  love  controls  me  that  nerved 
me  then  to  dare  and  to  encounter  fatigue  and  adventure  for  the 
sake  of  those  dear  to  me,  and  to  feel  that  the  sun  shining  above 
us  was  not  more  life-giving,  more  effulgent  than  the  face  of  him 
who  rode  beside  me.  What  if  the  shadows  of  green  graves  lie 
between  us  now,  and  the  world,  like  a  great  panorama,  passes 
before  me,  only  a  sojourner  and  a  spectator  therein  ?  The  time 


130  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

will  not  be  long,  however  lengthened  my  life  may  be,  before  th» 
eternal  haud  shall  gather  together  and  unite  forever  the  scattered 
elements,  dead  and  living,  that  composed  the  household  of  Bou- 
verie,  and  I  try  to  remember  that  my  noble  grandmother  esteemed 
patience  a  "  God-like  quality,"  and  the  apostle  among  poets  has 
said,  thinking  evidently  with  aer,  "Those  also  serve  who  only 
stand  and  wait." 

The  lamps  wtre  burning  in  the  streets  of ,  when  we  rode 

wearily  through  them,  not  having  left  our  saddles  since  we  sprang 
into  them  at  Bouverie,  nor  broken  bread  since  morning.  The 
,  usidence  of  Mr.  Clavering  was  in  a  remote  suburb  of  the  town,  a 
dark  grey  mansion,  cloister-like  in  its  appearance,  surrounded 
with  old  trees,  and  inclosed  with  stone  walls,  surmounted  with 
iron  railings.  A  brisk  summons  at  the  gate  brought  after  a  time 
an  old  servant  to  the  door,  shading  a  light  with  her  hand. 

"  She  looks  like  the  hag  in  the  cave  of  Gil  Bias  in  your  pic- 
lure,  Jasper,"  I  said.  "  I  am  afraid  of  her." 

Dismounting  hastily  from  my  horse,  and  leaving  the  reins  in 
his  hand,  I  went  up  the  steps  to  make  known  our  wish  to  see  Mr. 
Claveriug. 

"  We  are  from  Bouverie,"  I  said  ;  "  tell  him  so,  and  let  some 
oue  see  to  our  horses.  Mr.  Quintilian  is  holding  them." 

"  Deil  a  body  is  there  to  see  to  onything  here  but  me  and  the 
master,"  she  said.  "  The  beasts  maun  go  to  the  stables,  and 
Jasper  maun  tak'  um  his  ain  sel'." 

"  Jasper  1  how  do  you  know  his  name  ?"  I  asked.  "  This  is 
strange  indeed." 

She  laughed  a  sort  of  chirruping,  fairyish  laugh. 

"  He  gev  me  twa  pieces  of  gold  *o  sit  for  him,"  she  saic. 
'  whilst  he  painted  me  as  a  wiicb.  I  believe,  and  never  aoak  once 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUYERTE.  131 

while  he  was  employed  for  good  or  bad.  A  silent  chiel  he  is. 
But  come  in  off  the  steps,  and  Mister  Jasper,  just  proceed,  if  you 
please,  to  the  near  leevery,  while  I  tak'  the  young  leddy  into  the 
master's  study." 

So  saying,  she  drew  me  in  the  hall,  and  shut  the  door. 

"  This  way,  Miss  Bouverie,  this  way,  if  you  please  ;  don't 
stumble  now  ;  the  place  is  littered  up  a  little,  for  the  master 
always  goes  in  the  back  gate,  and  ye  mind  we  see  little  or  no 
company." 

"  Miss  de  Courcy,"  I  said,  loftily.  "  Tell  Mr.  Clavering  my 
name  before  I  enter.  I  am  Lilian  de  Courcy." 

"  Gude  sakes,  what  a  name  !  Did  ye  cam'  from  the  auld 
country,  lassie,  and  are  you  of  the  auld  blood  ?"  and  so  question- 
ing, she  threw  open  the  door  of  a  small  but  brilliantly  illumi- 
nated apartment. 

The  only  inhabitant  of  this  room,  evidently  the  master  so  often 
referred  to,  sat  comfortably  ensconced  in  a  great  cushioned  chair, 
by  a  table  piled  with  folios  and  fossils.  He  was  a  spare,  tall 
man,  evidently  approaching  middle  age,  grave-looking  and  slightly 
bald,  yet  decidedly  handsome,  with  the  remains  of  soft,  waving 
dark  hair,  falling  in  almost  womanish  locks  about  his  cheeks. 
He  rose  to  receive  me,  still  slightly  mystified,  apparently  by  my 
unexpected  appearance,  with  a  shy  and  stately  courtesy  peculiar 
to  the  refined  who  live  greatly  alone,  and  possessing  a  strange 
charm  for  me  whenever  I  observe  it. 

"  Sit  down,  Miss  de  Courcy,"  he  said,  placing  a  chair  for  me 
opposite  his  own,  and  near  the  blazing  coal  fire,  and  bending  his 
calm,  inquiring  eyes  upon  my  face.  I  stretched  my  hands  and 
weary  feet  with  almost  childish  eagerness  to  receive  its  hospitable 

warmth.     1  did  not  reflect  for  a  moment  how  strange  my  advent 
22 


132          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

must  seem  in  his  house,  forgetting  that  my  name  was  probably 
unknown  to  him,  and  that  the  letter  of  explanation  was  still  in 
Jasper's  pocketbook. 

"  I  am  cold,"  I  said,  "  and  weary,  having  ridden  a  long  way, 
and  ill  I  believe,  at  least  giddy,"  leaning  back  with  a  feeling  of 
utter  wretchedness,  while  my  whole  position  flashed  suddenly  be- 
fore me  with  mortifying  distinctness.  I  burst  into  irrepressible 
tears  of  mingled  pain  and  mortification,  and  sobbed  bitterly  for  a 
few  moments.  Old  Janet  approached  me,  so  I  believe  did  her 
bewildered  master. 

"  Dinna  greet,  lassie,"  she  said,  kindly.  "The  youth,  Jasper, 
will  soon  come  back.  She  is  from  Bouverie,  Mr.  Clavering," 
added  she,  addressing  herself  to  him,  "  and  the  young  man  has 
ta'en  the  horses  to  the  leevery.  Dr.  Quintil's  nephew,  I  mean — 
the  painter  laddie,  ye  maun  remember." 

"  Is  it  possible  !"  said  Mr.  Clavering,  with  real  concern.  "  Is 
this  Mr.  Bouverie's  grand-daughter,  of  whom  my  friend  Dr.  Qum« 
tilian  has  spoken  so  often  ?  Forgive  me,  dear  young  lady,  I  had 
no  clue  to  your  name  or  errand  here  before." 

"  I  am  so  weak,"  I  said,  looking  up  and  smiling  in  his  face, 
"  so  nervous,  I  am  quite  ashamed  ;  but  the  long  ride,  and  the 
very  awkward  position  in  which  Jasper's  absence  has  left  me,  must 
plead  for  me." 

He  took  my  hand,  and  murmured  a  few  words  ;  then  suddenly 
dropping  it,  conferred  apart  with  Janet,  who  disappeared,  re- 
entering  a  few  moments  later  with  coffee,  and  a  chafing  dish  of 
toast.  I  had  leaned  back  again  in  my  chair  in  the  interval,  quite 
faint  and  overcome,  and  he  sat  quietly  waiting  for  me  to  revive 
under  the  influence  of  the  much  needed  refreshment  of  the  steam« 
'.utf  raociia.  I  drank  it  eagerly. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF  BOUVEBIE. 

"  I  am  quite  myself  again,"  I  said,  putting  the  cup  aside  ; 
"  thank  you,  no  toast  yet,  dame,"  as  Janet  pressed  the  food  upon 
me.  "  I  will  eat  after  a  while,  if  you  please,  when  Jasper  comes. 
He,  too,  is  weary  and  fasting." 

"  And  here  he  is  at  last,"  said  Mr,  Clavering,  answering  the 
brisk  sound  of  the  bell  himself,  and  leading  Jasper  in,  a  moment 
afterward,  quite  triumphantly. 

The  letter  was  read  while  we  partook  together  of  the  hospitable 
fare — to  which  Janet  made  substantial  additions — read  with  a 
grave  and  earnest  aspect,  and  a  slight  trembling  of  the  expressive 
lips.  Mr.  Clavering  laid  it  aside  and  alluded  to  it  no  more  that 
night,  as  was  best  for  all ;  but  before  retiring  he  calmly  affixed 
his  signature  to  the  petition  inclosed  within.  "  Tune  is  the  best 
expiation,"  were  the  remarkable  words  he  spoke  as  he  returned  it 
to  Jasper.  Words  that  bore  a  whole  world  of  mercy  and  of 
hope  for  the  offender  here  and  hereafter,  if  true  in  themselves,  and 
briefly  revealed  his  own  opinions  on  the  great  subject  of  human 
punishment. 

Shall  I  ever  forget  that  evening,  prolonged  as  it  was,  uncon- 
sciously by  all,  beyond  midnight,  and  full  to  overflowing  with  the 
delightful  remark  and  reminiscence  of  one  who  was  a  host  in  more 
significations  than  one  ?  Was  it  possible,  I  thought  later,  that 
we  had  never  known  Mr.  Clavering  before  ?  Was  he  not  rather 
an  old  and  life-long  acquaintance,  knit  to  us  by  ties  of  habit, 
taste,  and  affection  !  What  a  charm  there  was  in  his  mild,  frank 
deferential  manner,  in  the  expression  of  his  large,  beaming  eyes,  in 
the  infinite  sweetness  of  his  slow,  sad,  unfrequent  smile.  How  fine 
were  the  tones  of  his  voice,  what  a  ring  of  true  coin  there  was 
about  them  ;  how  just,  now  noble  his  sentiments  ;  how  lofty  and 
deep  his  ideas,  how  profound  his  culture  !  I  was  lost  in  admira 


134  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOZTVERIE. 

tion.  Accustomed  as  I  had  been  to  vigorous  thought  and  bril- 
liancy of  imagination,  and  extensive  information  in  the  minds 
around  me,  I  had  not  yet  met  with  one  that  seemed  to  unite  all 
these  qualifications  of  greatness  in  such  perfect  equipoise.  And 
yet  this  man  lived  alone,  and  devoted  his  msatal  energies  to  the 
investigation  of  old  bones  and  uninteresting  rocks,  and  petrified 
animal  remains,  and  prided  himself  (with  all  those  intellectual 
riches  I  have  mentioned)  on  the  poor  title  of  first  geologist  of 
his  State  1  He  who  was  born  a  poet,  who  might  have  been  a 
statesman  ! 

"  What  painting  are  you  employed  on  now,  Jasper  ?"  he 
asked  ;  "I  know  you  are  never  idle." 

"  I  am  painting  a  Magdalene,"  was  the  answer. 

"  The  subject  is  exhausted,  Jasper,"  said  Mr.  Clavering. 
"  Think  of  the  many  Magdalenes  that  the  piety  or  superstition 
of  the  old  masters  has  given  to  the  world  ;"  and  he  ran  over  with 
surprising  facility  a  list  of  these,  giving  as  he  went,  a  few  words 
to  each,  descriptive  of  its  peculiarity  of  style  or  expression,  and 
ending  by  preferring  one  of  which  I  had  never  heard  before. 
"  The  work  of  one  Battoni,  a  life-sized  picture  in  the  gallery  of 
Dresden  ;  not  so  remarkable  for  executive  power  as  beauty  of  con- 
ception, an  angelic  calmness  being  diffused  over  the  whole  exqui- 
site figure,  which  lies  at  length  upon  the  ground,  reading  an  open 
Bible." 

"  Describe  your  Magdalene  to  Mr.  Clavering,  Jasper,"  I  said, 
with  a  feeling  of  natural  pride.  He  smiled,  but  wrote  as  I 
requested.  "  Mine  is  a  modern  Magdalene,"  he  began  ;  "I 
have  discarded  the  old  idea  entirely  of  voluptuous  fullness  and 
mere  physical  beauty.  I  have  tried  to  merge  all  expression  in  one 
of  penance  and  rapt  religion.  The  picture  is  a  small  one,  of  the 


TFFE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  135 

Cabinet  or  Wilkie  size.  It  represents  the  moment  when  Mary, 
after  pouring  the  ointment  on  the  Saviour's  feet  in  the  house  of 
Simon  the  Leper,  sits  humbly  on  the  ground  before  him.  The 
hair  with  which  she  has  wiped  his  feet,  hangs  long  and  lank 
around  her  emaciated  figure,  pale,  brown,  and  massive.  Her 
clasped  hands  inclose  her  knees,  her  face  is  bowed  nearly  over 
them  ;  in  the  hands  alone  have  I  permitted  a  suggestion  of  the 
original  beauty  of  form  to  appear,  otherwise  concealed  by  the 
dark  blue  dress  she  wears.  The  forehead  is  thin  and  spacious  ; 
the  large  blue  eyes  sunken  and  dim,  looking  out  as  if  on  space, 
transfixed  by  the  promised  hope  and  glory  beyond  the  world 
The  outline  of  the  nose  is  Greek,  with  the  thin,  dilating  nostril, 
expressive  of  spirit  and  sensibility.  The  cheeks  are  worn,  the 
lips  despairing  and  partly  open,  showing  the  square  cut  corners 
and  original  fullness  of  form,  which  we  can  but  associate  with 
impulse,  and  even  imagination,  such  as  must  have  been  hers, 
though  merged  at  one  time  into  sensuality  by  the  force  of  educa- 
tion and  circumstance  only,  we  must  believe.  For  the  nature  of 
Magdalene  was  tender  and  noble,  poetic  even,  we  have  reason  to 
think,  from  the  glimpses  we  have  of  her,  and  the  devoted  charac 
tei-  of  her  pure  and  perfect  love  for  Christ.  There  are  other 
figures  of  which  I  will  not  speak  now,  having  barely  sketched 
them  in  ;  but  that  of  Magdalene  is  nearly  finished,  and  is  meant 
to  be  the  principal  one  of  the  group." 

"  I  like  your  conception,"  said  Mr.  Clavering,  "  and  I  hope  I 
shall  like  your  execution  as  well,  Jasper.  Did  you  finish 
Silenus  ?» 

"  No,"  said  Jasper,  smiling,  signifying  the  word  by  a  shake  of 
the  head,  then  writing  rapidly:  "Bishop  Clare  objected  to  the 
picture  because  I  had  beguiled  poor  Father  Conrad,  uumtention- 


136  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

ally,  I  assure  you,  with  the  idea  that  I  was  about  to  paint  him  as 
'  St.  Silenus,'  aiid  he  had  consequently  made  himself  so  ridiculous 
in  the  convent  by  reporting  that  he  was  to  be  painted  '  by  that 
pious  young  artist,  Jasper  Quintilian,  as  the  most  worthy  and 
notable  Greek  saint  Silenus,  seated  on  an  ass,'  that  for  the  best 
interests  of  religion,  Bishop  Clare  begged  me  to  desist,  at  least 
until  the  matter  was  forgotten." 

"  The  old  man  is  ignorant  and  even  sensual,"  said  Mr.  Claver- 
ing,  "  at  least  in  his  love  for  the  table  ;  but  he  is  useful  in  his  way, 
and  controls  the  Irish  around  us  in  a  manner  that  benefits  the 
citizens  generally.  Otherwise  I  should  vote  him  a  nuisance." 

"  You  are  no  Catholic,  I  know,  Mr.  Clavering,"  wrote  Jasper  ; 
"  no  friend  to  the  institution  at  least." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Clavering,  smiling  slowly,  "  that  we  do  too 
much  confound  this  religion  with  its  abuses.  It  is  very  compre- 
hensive, it  meets  every  requirement  of  human  nature,  physical  or 
spiritual.  '  If  I  were  not  Alexander,  I  would  be  Parmenio.' " 

"  I  understand  you.  If  you  were  not  a  Unitarian,  you  would 
be  a  Catholic.  Yours  is  a  cold  belief,  that  suits  better  a  geologist 
than  a  poet  or  a  painter  ;  and  yet  I  believe  you,  too,  are  one  of 
these." 

"  The  time  is  past,  0  Jasper!  the  time  is  past  when  '  golden  exhal- 
ations of  the  dawn,'  made  my  path  radiant,  and  when,  dove-like, 
over  a  waste  of  waters  the  sweet  spirit  of  poetry  brooded  in  my 
breast.  Sorrow,  such  as  befalls  few  men,  crushing,  obliterating, 
sudden,  was  succeeded  by  that  secondary  state  of  happiness  in 
which  routine  and  occupation  insure  tranquillity,  and  even  peace, 
a  word  of  wider  signification.  The  compromise  with  grief  was 
gladly  accepted.  I  a  in  thankful  to  the  mighty  consideration  of 
him  who  suffers  substitution  like  this,  yet  I  do  not  believe  that  I 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  187 

have  enjoyed  such  life  as  my  original  capacity  might  have  grasped. 
I  have  sat  frugally  at  a  board  of  bread  and  water  (spiritually 
speaking),  understanding  well  that  a  goblet  of  wine  and  the  deli- 
cate fruits  of  the  earth  would  have  filled  my  table  and  needs 
better.  Had  I  written  out  my  own  heart  as  Byron  did,  I  might 
have  been  esteemed  a  poet  still ;  but  I  shrank  from  this.  I 
covered  close  the  outcries  of  its  agony,  as  Othello  controlled 
those  of  Desdemona,  and  hi  the  smothered  strife  imagination  died 
like  her  a  violent  death.  Jasper — Miss  de  Courcy — it  was  my  inex- 
pressible grief  to  have  occasioned  the  death  of  the  woman  who 
was  to  have  been  my  wife."  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then  went 
on  in  low,  sorrowful  tones.  "  We  were  sailing  together  on  a 
summer  lake,  by  mismanagement  of  name  the  boat  was  upset,  and 
she  was  lost — '  drowned — drowned  !'  as  Shakspeare  has  it,"  he 
said  bitterly,  "and  I — oh,  my  God  ! — by  no  act  of  my  own,  thod 
knowest  well,  was  shamefully  rescued  I" 

He  rose,  he  walked  to  the  window,  and  looked  out  upon  the 
night  through  the  parted  curtains.  When  he  returned,  all 
traces  of  emotion  had  disappeared  from  his  calm,  grave  counte- 
nance. 

"The  only  question  that  remains  to  be  solved  now,  Jasper, 
is  the  one  of  fate,"  he  said  with  perfect  composure.  "  Was  this 
intended  and  predestined,  was  it  accident  ?  On  the  solution  of 
this  enigma  hangs  the.  happiness,  earthly  and  eternal,  of  Ernest 
Clavering." 

"  It  was  fate  1"  I  answered  impulsively.  He  had  not  addressed 
himself  to  me,  but  Jasper  made  no  reply.  "  Your  destiny.  Ac- 
cept it,  Mr.  Clavering.  and  be  happy." 

"  Why  what  a  Calvinist  you  would  make,  Miss  de  Courcy  ?"  he 
said,  half  smiling  at  my  earnest  advocation  of  my  favorite  doc- 


138  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

trine.  "Yet  it  is  a  comfort  to  hear  this  instinctive  counsel  from 
your  lips,  for  surely  with  one  so  ^oung,  it  could  scarcely  be  a 
matter  of  deep  consideration.  And  now,"  taking  down  a  new 
volume  from  his  book-case,  "  I  will  read  you  what  Mr.  Bulwcr, 
the  most  fascinating  and  metaphysical  of  novelists,  says  on  this 
subject,  in  this  beautiful  work  of  his,"  and  he  read  with  striking 
power  and  beauty  "  The  Vision  of  Arbaces,"  in  the  "  Last  days 
of  Pompeii,"  then  among  the  latest  works  of  the  author. 

I  can  give  but  a  glimpse  of  this  evening,  so  memorable  to  me. 
The  impression  of  pleasure  it  conveyed  seemed  not  to  have  been 
made  on  my  heart  alone,  as  shah1  be  seen  hereafter.  I  number 
yet,  1  hope  ever  to  number,  Mr.  Clavering  among  my  few  friends 
(the  word  has  a  deep  sacredness  to  me),  and  if  I  give  in  these 
pages  an  insight  into  deeper  feelings  on  his  part,  it  is  not  for  the 
gratification  of  vanity  or  woman's  pride,  but  merely  to  fulfill  the 
truth. 

I  had  put  aside  for  one  evening  the  burdensome  anticipation 
of  the  morrow,  and  yielded  my  being  fully  to  the  current  of  social 
enjoyment ;  but  when  the  morning  broke,  with  the  recurring  con- 
sciousness of  the  task  that  lay  before  me,  I  rose  sorrowful  and 
pale,  as  a  prisoner  on  the  day  of  execution.  I  could  not  eat,  nor 
speak,  save  in  monosyllables,  at  the  breakfast  board,  but  Mr. 
Clavering,  with  native  delicacy,  neither  pressed  the  one  upon  me, 
nor  gave  occasion  for  the  other;  yet  I  felt  tha.t  his  calm  observant  eye 
was  upon  me  often,  with  an  expression  of  solicitude  and  compas- 
sion. He  had  caused  our  horses  to  be  brought  to  us  while  we 
breakfasted,  and  when  they  were  announced  he  did  not  seek  to 
detain  us  a  moment,  merely  requesting  us  to  return  to  his  house 
and  take  refreshment  after  the  interview,  if  possible,  and  pressing 
onr  hands  with  a  murmured  blessing  as  we  parted. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVBKDC.          139 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  residence  of  the  governor  was  a  little  beyond  the  town 
limits,  and  lay  in  an  opposite  direction  from  Mr.  Clavtring's 
abode.  It  was  placed  at  some  distance  from  the  road  in  a  finely 
wooded  park,  through  which  walks  and  drives  were  cut,  and 
beyond  which  lay  greenhouses,  and  gardens,  and  meadows,  bounded 
by  the  blue,  distant,  curving  river.  Nothing  could  be  more 
cheerful  than  the  aspect  of  this  residence  to  an  unprejudiced  eye. 
No  prison-house  in  a  narrow  city  court  could  have  seemed  more 
gloomy,  more  repellent  to  mine.  As  it  broke  upon  my  view  from 
a  sudden  turn  of  the  road,  pointed  out  by  Jasper,  a  feeling  of  the 
crushing  responsibility  resting  on  us  fell  over  me,  and  a  blind  mis- 
giving made  me  sick  and  faint-hearted. 

"  Oh,  Jasper !"  I  said,  "  we  have  undertaken  too  much  ;  we 
shall  fail,  we  shall  fail  1  I  have  no  words  for  an  occasion  like 
this.  Go  on  with  the  petition,  and  leave  me  here  ;  I  shall  only 
embarrass  you." 

We  were  now  standing  by  the  gate,  lofty  and  massive,  and  it 
was  necessary  he  should  dismount  to  open  it.  Before  leaving  his 
horse  he  turned  and  gazed  steadfastly,  almost  reproachfully  at 
me,  pressed  his  hand  on  his  heart  and  lips,  pointed  to  heaven, 
shook  his  head  mournfully,  and  then  calmly  proceeded  to  open 
the  leaves  of  the  gate,  and  led  the  horses  through,  for  I  had 
dropped  my  reins,  aud  now  held  my  hands  pressed  tightly  over 
my  face,  feeling  as  I  did  the  full  force  of  his  rebuke. 

As  I  heard  the  leaves  of  the  gate  clash  together  behind  us,  it 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOUVKBIE. 

seemed  to  say  to  ire,  with  its  harsh,  grating  sound,  "  There  is  no 
retreating  now  ;  your  fate  incloses  you."  I  rallied  with  a  strong 
effort,  took  the  reins  from  Jasper's  hands,  and  cantered  through 
the  grounds  by  his  side,  gathering  courage  and  dream-like  compo- 
sure at  every  step  that  brought  me  nearer  to  certainty.  I  scarcely 
knew  how  to  command  myself  to  dismount  calmly  and  enter  the 
house,  and  even  give  our  names  to  the  attendant.  The  governor 
was  at  home,  and  we  were  ushered  at  once  into  his  presence. 

He  was  standing  on  the  rug  of  the  drawing-room  or  hearth  as 
we  entered,  engaged  in  reading  a  newspaper.  Chairs  placed  in  a 
circle  around  the  blazing  coal  fire,  showed  that  he  had  not  been 
long  alone  ;  the  occupants  had  probably  gone  out  on  hearing  of 
the  approach  of  "  strangers  on  important  business,"  for  thus  we 
had  heralded  ourselves. 

He  advanced  toward  us  with  extended  hands  as  we  reached  the 
middle  of  the  room,  and,  with  a  face  beaming  with  cordial  kind- 
ness said,  "  Give  me  your  names,  my  young  friends — my  servant 
announced  them  indistinctly  ;  and,  if  my  memory  serves  me,  we 
have  not  met  before." 

I  could  not  speak  to  him  for  the  stricture  in  my  throat ;  and, 
for  all  answer,  Jasper  placed  the  petition  in  his  outstretched 
hands,  instead  of  accepting  them  in  greeting.  He  took  it 
gravely,  scrutinized  the  direction,  stepped  back  to  his  standing- 
place  on  the  rug,  waved  his  hand  to  us  to  follow  him,  pointing 
courteously  to  chairs  as  we  did  so,  and  immediately  commenced 
the  perusal  of  the  document.  Too  much  excited  to  sit  down,  we 
Ktood  on  either  side  of  him,  both  reading  the  face  invested  with 
such  awful  attributes  of  authority,  the  power  of  life  and  death,  as 
if  from  its  lineaments  and  expression  we  could  gather  the  doom 
before  us. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOCVERIE.  141 

It  was  an  open,  stern,  handsome  face,  as  one  might  wish  to  see, 
looking  far  younger  than  it  was,  as  I  knew  later  ;  not  of  the 
highest  order  of  intellectual  refinement,  but  benevolent,  intelligent, 
and  true.  The  figure  that  upheld  that  manly  head  was  tall,  ro- 
bust, and  commanding,  with  something  of  the  military  mold 
about  it,  revealing,  far  more  than  the  countenance  above,  a  deter- 
mined and  even  inflexible  character.  As  he  read  on,  the  beaming-, 
candid  expression  he  had  worn  in  the  beginning  became  clouded, 
his  brows  contracted,  his  lips  quivered  with  emotion  of  some  sort 
— pity,  I  trusted  it  might  be — and  a  dark  red  flush  came  to  his 
sunburnt  cheek,  the  muscles  of  which  twitched  nervously.  Strange 
contradiction  of  feeling  ! — as  I  saw  his  agitation  increase,  mine 
diminished.  We  were  approaching  more  nearly  to  the  same  level, 
and  I  began  to  feel  a  power  within  me,  unsuspected  until  then,  to 
cope  and  contend  with  a  strong  nature  even  to  the  bitter  end.  I 
drew  my  long  habit  back  from  my  feet,  so  as  to  lie  like  a  train 
behind  me,  and  leave  my  steps  unembarrassed.  I  swept  back  my 
hair,  I  clenched  my  riding-whip  with  both  hands  across  my  knees ; 
the  outer  movements  corresponded  with  the  internal  resolution, 
and  I  felt  nerved  as  with  steel  to  die  in  the  struggle,  if  needs  were, 
rather  than  yield  the  point  dearer  than  life  itself.  Resolution 
how  impotent,  when  power  and  prejudice  were  its  opponents  ! 

When  he  had  finished  reading  the  petition,  the  governor  turned 
to  Jasper,  now  standing  pale  and  steadily  before  him. 

"Are  you  Jasper  Quintilian?"  he  asked. 

He  was  answered  by  a  bend  of  the  head. 

"Are  you  awa.re,"  he  continued,  in  cold,  constrained  accents, 
"  that  a  paper  like  this  was  once  before  presented  for  my  signature 
•  -offered,  and  rejected  ?" 

AgaVi  the  silent  bow  was  the  ouly  I'e 


142          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIH. 

"A  longer  list  of  names  was  then  appended  than  I  find  here 
now;  yet  there  are  two,  that,  but  for  convictions  of  my  own, 
might  outweigh  a  legion — those  of  the  son  and  brother  of  the 
murdered  man  !  Truly,  a  strange  proceeding,  reversing  all  prece- 
dent known  to  me  in  my  whole  experience  of  life,  and  running 
counter  to  the  natural  laws  that  govern  mankind.  Most  extra- 
ordinary 1" 

"  This  is  the  spirit  of  the  Christian  law,"  I  ventured  to  say  ; 
"  higher  than  any  law  of  Nature  herself." 

He  turned  to  me  almost  fiercely — men  like  him  can  so  ill  bear 
the  suggestions  of  women. 

"  You  are,  I  suppose,  the  Lilian  de  Courcy  mentioned  here  as 
the  grand-daughter  of  Erastus  Bouverie  ?"  and  he  laid  his  quiver- 
ing finger  on  the  petition.  "  Much  cause  have  you  to  pray  for  the 
life  of  him  who  tore  mother  and  child  apart,  and  exiled  you  and 
yours  !  How  can  this  be  accounted  for  ?  It  is  infatuation — it  is 
misjudged  devotion,  weakness,  or  worse." 

I  saw  the  change  in  Jasper's  face  at  these  words,  and,  laying  my 
hand  on  his  arm,  I  grasped  it  tightly  ;  then  stepping  between  the 
two  excited  men,  I  spoke  a  few  sentences  in  subdued  accents, 
faltering  between  each  in  the  agony  of  my  suppressed  emotion. 

"  I  came  not  here  to  reason,  Governor  Staunton — affection  and 
ties  of  blood  are  things  beyond  human  understanding — nor  yet  to 
venture  upon  equal  ground  with  you.  Yours  is  the  power — we 
are  mere  suppliants.  Yet,  in  old  times,  there  was  a  sanctity  at- 
tached to  that  attitude,  which  protected  " I  could  not  pro- 

Deed,  but  stood  silent  and  panting  before  him. 

His  manly  nature  was  touched — Lie  took  my  unresisting  hand, 
now  hanging  loosely  at  my  side,  and  held  it  a  moment.  • 

"  Forgive  me,  if  I  have  been  wanting  in  any  way  to  you,  uiy 


\ 

THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOU7EK1E.  143 

guests,"  be  said  ;  then  looking  at  Jasper,  he  added,  "  speak  to  me 
yourself,  Mr.  Quintilian  ;  matters  of  this  sort  are  best  discussed 
between  man  and  man.  We  must  spare  this  young  lady." 

"  He  cannot  speak — he  has  never  spoken,"  I  said.  "  Oh,  do 
you  think  I  would  be  so  unwomanly  as  to  take  the  words  from  his 
lips  if  he  were  capable  of  uttering  them  ?  This  is  a  last  necessity 
with  me." 

"A  stringent  one,  indeed,"  he  said,  gravely.  "Under  these 
peculiar  circumstances,  your  friends  should  not  have  sent  you  here 
to  give,  and  receive,  so  much  inevitable  pain." 

"  You  do  not  mean,"  I  whispered,  "oh,  you  cannot  mean  " — and 
losing  sight  of  all  ceremony  in  the  strong  excitement  of  the  moment, 
I  laid  my  gloved  hand  on  his  arm,  and  looked  anxiously  into  his  face, 
speaking  now  with  vehemence — "  that  you  would  refuse  me,  us,  all 
that  love  him,  the  remnant — the  bare,  worn  remnant — of  my  grand- 
father's most  miserable  life  !  I  have  read  you  wrong,  if  a  cruel  soul, 
like  this,  abides  under  lineaments  like  yours.  Oh,  reflect,  you  who 
have  walked  in  the  day  all  your  life  without  a  pang  of  shame,  or 
any  need  of  disguise  or  concealment,  on  that  long,  long  hiding  away 
from  the  face  of  his  fellow-men — he,  gifted,  great  by  nature,  above 
any  of  them  ;  on  the  stagnant  present,  on  the  hopeless  future,  on 
the  remorseful  past,  that  made  up  my  grandfather's  existence. 
Think,  also,  in  your  merciful  compassion,  think — you,  that  through 
the  awful  power  you  wield,  represent  your  Creator  himself  in  some 
sort — of  the  hearts  that  trembled  constantly  during  that  ten 
•years'  immurement,  for  one  so  closely  bound  to  them  by  ties  of 
blood  and  circumstance,  that  his  dishonor  had  become  their  dis- 
honor ;  and  his  sorrow,  their  sorrow.  Think  of  the  forbearance, 
the  care,  the  vigilance,  that  must  have  been  exercised  in  his  behalf 
to  preserve  his  secret,  and  prolong  his  life,  hanging,  as  it  has  d?n« 


144 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIK, 


for  years,  on  a  mere  thread  !  Is  there  nothing  due  to  such  sacri- 
fices as  have  been  made  for  him  ?  nothing  to  time  itself?"  and  I 
repeated  Mr.  Clavering's  noble  sentiment,  "  Time  the  best  expia- 
tion ?  Nothing  to  those  who  have  merged  their  lives  in  his,  and 
who  must  be  crashed  by  his  disgrace  and  punishment  beyond 
human  reparation  !" 

"  Miss  de  Courcy,  dear  young  lady,"  he  rejoined,  "  I  admire,  1 
honor  your  devotion  ;  but  my  first  duty  as  a  feeble  representa- 
tive of  my  Creator,  responsible  to  him,  is  to  be  just.  I  have 
lately  been  recalling  all  the  features  of  this  case.  They  are  very 
revolting  ;  you  probably  do  not  know  the  extent  of  turpitude 
involved  in  the  crime  in  question." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  know  more  than  I  do  know,"  I  said  passion- 
ately. "It  is  not  my  business  to  sit  in  judgment  on  him  who 
gave  me  being  ;  but  if  my  own  life  could  redeem  his,  I  would 
freely  give  it — aye,  as  freely  as  I  speak  these  words  !" 

"  Be  tranquil,"  he  said,  "  I  will  come  again.  When  I  return, 
let  me  find  you  more  composed." 

He  turned  suddenly  away,  and  left  the  room.  For  a  few  mo- 
oaents  we  were  quite  alone.  Jasper  sat  by  me,  holding  my  icy 
hands,  and  bending  on  my  face  his  tender  eyes,  full  of  compas- 
sionate solicitude.  I  trembled  violently.  I  felt  that  I  was  ill. 
Black  attendants  came  in  bearing  salvers  of  cake,  and  fruit,  and 
wine  (Governor  Staunton  still  adhered  to  the  remnant  of  slavery 
in  the  land),  and  urged,  with  the  familiarity  born  of  kindness, 
that  can  never  be  eradicated  from  this  race,  these  refreshments 
on  our  appetites. 

Jasper  held  a  bunch  of  grapes  before  me.  I  waved  it  away,  a 
glass  of  water  was  all  my  burning  throat  could  receive.  The 
servants  moved  gently  through  the  room  as  though  in  the  presence 


TBE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  1 45 

of  sickness,  placed  the  chairs  in  order,  brushed  the  hearth,  ad- 
justed the  crimson  curtains  so  as  to  shut  out  the  brilliant  winter 
sun,  and  softly  retired.  There  was  something  soothing  to  my  ex- 
cited nerves  in  this  gentle  ministry.  I  leaned  back  in  the  great 
cushioned  chair  I  occupied,  and  from  my  closed  eyes  the  tears 
streamed  slowly,  yet  gratefully,  affording  me  infinite  relief.  The 
warmth  of  the  fire  was  soothing  to  my  chilled  frame,  its  rigidity 
Beeined  to  relax  as  I  basked  in  the  cheerful  blaze.  I  was  con- 
scious of  little  more  until  I  awoke  from  a  profound  refreshing 
slumber.  A  low  but  distinct  voice  was  speaking  near  me  when  I 
aroused  from  sleep,  as  if  in  continuance  of  a  narrative.  Its  mur- 
muring sound  bad  already  mingled  with  my  sleeping  thoughts  like 
falling  water.  I  found  it  now  to  be  the  voice  of  Governor 
Staunton. 

"  I  passed  him  on  the  bridge,"  he  said,  "  between  Moorfields 
and  Grosveuor.  The  night  had  been  cloudy  in  the  commence- 
ment, but  suddenly,  as  if  God's  providence  were  in  this  revelation, 
the  moon  emerged  from  behind  a  mass  of  clouds,  as  a  face  that 
suddenly  looks  out  from  parted  curtains,  and  in  its  clear  flood  of 
light,  Erastus  Bouverie,  on  his  fleet  black  horse,  dashed  by  me. 
He  did  not  see  me  I  am  sure,  for  I  was  on  foot  and  walking  near 
the  handrail  in  the  shadow,  but  he  passed  so  close  to  me,  that  I 
felt  the  breath  of  his  fiery  horse  '  Sahib '  in  my  face.  He  had 
ridden  far  and  fast  I  could  see  plainly  by  the  fatigued  expression 
of  his  own  face,  revealed  in  the  ghastly  moonlight.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  in  the  direction  of  Bouverie,  his  upper  lip  was  drawn 
back,  and  his  white  teeth  were  bare  and  set  together,  gleaming 
like  steel.  I  could  hear  his  tight,  hard  breathing.  '  He  is  going 
home  sooner  than  he  said  he  would  do.  How  characteristic 
of  the  man,'  I  thought.  '  I  hope  he  may  not  follow  Camilla 


146  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF  BOUVERIE. 

to  the  ball,  and  that  she  may  prove  successful  with  Frederick,' 
Some  almost  prophetic  misgivings  crept  through  my  mind  ;  but, 
alas  !  how  little  I  looked  forward  to  the  terrible  revelation  of 
the  next  day,  when  the  river  gave  up  its  dead,  and  the  mangled 
form  of  Frederick  Staunton,  cut  literally  to  pieces,  was  brought 
to  Grosvenor.  I  can  never  forget  its  horrors." 

There  was  a  pause.  Jasper  was  writing  on  his  tablets.  The 
governor  was  reading  his  reply. 

"  This  is  true.  He  did  prove  an  alibi,  by  suborned  witnesses, 
I  am  convinced,  and  the  grand  jury  did  dismiss  the  matter  hi  a 
summary  way,  that  reflected  discredit  on  me  at  the  time.  I  was 
accused  of  malignity  and  ill  will  toward  an  unoffending  man,  who 
had  returned  from  a  distant  journey  some  days  after  the  murder, 
and  was  perfectly  innocent  of  its  details,  and  my  political  pros- 
pects were  nearly  blighted  at  the  time.  I  lived  this  down,  I  boro 
it  with  what  patience  I  could  command,  silently,  bitterly,  yet  not 
revengefully,  since  I  did  not  take  the  life  of  a  villain  who  passed 
almost  daily  before  my  eyes.  Yet  with  my  brother's  body  I  did  not 
bury  my  bitter  sense  of  wrong.  I  was  a  law-abiding,  a  Christian 
man,  but  nature  cried  out  within  me,  and  her  voice  could  not  be 
quieted.  The  time  came  at  last — nearly  twenty  years  later, 
when  my  enemy  lay  in  a  dungeon,  doomed  to  die  for  a  crime  not 
half  so  black  as  that  which  had  passed  for  a  time  unpunished. 
God  has  his  own  way  of  bringing  an  offender  to  justice,  his  life 
depended  on  my  clemency  at  last.  I  was  rock  to  his  entreaties, 
hi  which  his  martyred  wife  and  your  injured  uncle  did  not  then 
unite.  Great  names  were  appended  to  that  petition  ;  I  laughed 
them  to  scorn.  What  were  they  in  comparison  with  the  passion 
that  possessed  me  ?  I  promised  myself  joy  at  seeing  him  on  the 
scaffold,  and  would  have  shared  his  punishment,  I  believe,  rather 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVEKIE.  147 

than  have  commuted  it.  I  thanked  my  God  that  by  my  refusal  I 
was  permitted  to  vindicate  his  violated  laws.  On  my  knees  1 
thanked  him.  Such  were  my  feelings  to  Erastus  Bouverie  on 
that  occasion,  feelings  so  natural  that  no  man  can  blame  me  for 
entertaining  them  ;  has  anything  occurred  to  change  them  now  ? 
You  know  the  wretched  farce,  or  perhaps  you  do  not,  that  was 
played  ;  the  simulated  death,  the  demand  for  his  body  by  his  wife, 
tmconscious  of  the  fraud  that  his  servant  and  he  had  practised 
through  his  wonderful  knowledge  of  the  power  of  certain  drugs  ; 
the  mock  burial,  the  marble  tombstone,  each  and  all  characteristic 
of  the  man  himself.  All  this  has  come  to  light  recently.  I  do 
not  blame  Mrs.  Bouverie.  She  has  acted  nobly.  I  respect  Dr. 
Quintiliau's  motives,  yours,  his  grand-daughter's  ;  but  toward 
him,  my  heart  is  stone,  and  my  brother's  blood  cries  on  me  from 
the  ground." 

I  rose  and  stood  before  them.  I  had  thrown  my  riding-hat  on 
the  floor  by  my  chair,  when  I  reclined  in  it  first  ;  my  long 
plaited  hair  lay  over  my  shoulders  in  distinct  masses,  my  cheeks  I 
felt  were  burning.  I  know  that  I  must  have  presented  a  very 
strange  and  even  wild  appearance  ;  but  I  did  not  think  of  this 
then,  nor  until  long  afterward. 

"  Governor  Staunton,"  I  said  ;  "  I  have  heard  what  you  have 
been  saying.  Your  sorrow,  your  wrong  through  my  unhappy 
grandfather  have  been  grievous  enough,  God  knows  ;  but  it  is 
not  for  this  we  are  petitioning  pardon.  We  ask  you  to  forego 
the  sentence  passed  by  Judge  Wardlaw,  on  him  ten  years  ago, 
whereby  he  was  condemned  to  die  for  the  murder  of  Dr.  Quin. 
tilian.  It  is  for  that  offence  we  ask  you  to  pardon  him." 

"  1  understand  my  duty  well  enough,  I  hope,  Miss  de  Coiurcy, 
to  assure  you  that  it  does  not  transcend  this  point  !  Yet,  feel- 


14:8  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

ings  natural  to  man  will  arise  in  this  case  to  strengthen  the 
claims  of  justice,  and  nerve  me  to  fulfill  its  mandates.  This  man's 
life  was  forfeited  to  the  laws  of  his  country,  not  to  any  private 
vengeance  of  mine.  It  remains  so.  There  is  no  more  to  be  said." 

"No  more  ?"  I  repeated,  with  irrepressible  indignation.  "  Oh! 
much  more  ;  but  I  am  not  the  one  to  say  it !  I  told  you,  Jas- 
per," I  moaned,  in  low  quivering  accents,  throwing  myself  on  his 
arm,  and  burying  my  head  in  his  breast ;  "  that  we  should  fail ! 
I  felt  that  feeble  creatures  like  ourselves  could  do  nothing  in  the 
face  of  authority  and  armed  law.  Oh,  years  of  suffering  !  pain, 
prayer,  sorrow,  regret,  remorse,  despair,  do  you  all  go  for  no- 
thing ?  Is  there  no  mercy  for  offending  man,  save  with  his  God, 
beyond  the  grave  ?" 

A  low  groan  escaped  Jasper's  lips,  the  first  distinct  sound  I  had 
ever  heard  them  emit.  My  God,  how  it  thrilled  me!  I  looked  up. 
"  Oh,  man  of  power  !"  I  said,  "the  voice  of  heaven  is  speaking  to 
you  now  !  Even  those  dumb  lips  are  touched  to  utter  groans  in 
the  great  cause  of  humanity.  I  make  to  you  one  more  appeal — 
for  his  sake,  hear  me,"  and  I  pointed  to  Jasper.  "  I  am  his  voice, 
his  life  ;  but  I  cannot  fulfill  the  bond  between  us,  should  my 
father,  the  only  one  I  have  ever  known,  die  on  the  scaffold,  for 
having  shed  his  father's  blood.  The  past,  the  expiated  past,  for 
such  we  all  feel  it,  is  forgiven  now,  and  overlooked  ;  but  fresh 
spilled  blood  must  come  between  us  forever.  Oh,  Governor 
Staunton,  I  ask  you  for  our  happiness.  We  are  young,  we  are 
devoted  ;  do  not  place  impassable  horrors  between  us  !  Think 
how  divine  a  privilege  you  enjoy,  to  confer  happiness,  God's  best 
gift.  And,  oh  !  remember  the  agony  of  the  cross,  the  forgiven 
penitent,  the  last  divine  prayer  of  the  suffering  Jesus,  the  holy 
prerogative  of  forgiveness.  Will  you  reject  these  more  thau 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          149 

mortal  attributes  of  power,  and  use  it  for  human  purposes  of 
vengeance  and  hate  alone  ?  I  think,  Governor  Staunton,  if  I  am 
not  greatly  deceived  in  you,"  I  said,  speaking  more  calmly  ; 
"  that  bitterly  as  you  have  suffered  at  his  hands,  you  would  have 
prtied  my  grandfather  could  you  have  seen  him  as  we  saw  him  a 
few  nights  ago,  returning  sick,  exhausted  to  his  household,  after 
lying  concealed  in  a  cave  during  almost  the  whole  of  our  stormy 
November,  on  a  bed  of  leaves  made  by  his  own  hands,  and  saved 
by  Providence  alone,  through  the  accidental  entrance,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  of  a  poor  idiot.  I  think  your  noble  heart  would 
have  melted  could  you  have  beheld  him,  worn  to  skeleton  lean- 
ness, creeping  feebly,  humbly,  like  a  beggar  into  his  own  house, 
where  he  scarcely  dared  hope  for  a  welcome,  and  asking  only 
what  you  would  not  deny  to  your  meanest,  most  offending  slave — 
Jie  privilege  to  die  in  his  bed,  surrounded  by  his  family.  You 
will  grant  him  this  blessing,  will  you  not,  Governor  Staunton  ? 
He  is  a  dying  man  ;  you  will  suffer  him  to  pass  away  in  peace 
into  the  hands  of  his  Maker  ?  You  are  not  revengeful,  not  relent- 
less ;  surely,  you  will  not  refuse  this  boon,  in  the  plenitude  of 
your  power  ?"  I  paused  for  his  reply.  I  waited  in  vain  ;  he 
made  me  none,  and  again  I  burst  forth. 

"  Oh,  speak  !  your  silence  kills  me  I  Tell  me  that  I  have  not 
presumed  too  far  in  entreating  thus  your  merciful  forbearance. 
Say  you  will  cancel  his  offences,  and  write  your  name  on  our 
grateful  hearts  next  to  that  of  God  himself !"  I  knelt  before 
him,  I  bathed  his  powerful  hands  with  scalding  tears.  Again,  in 
the  impatience  of  my  agouy,  and  the  sore  continuance  of  his 
silence,  I  sent  forth  the  bitter  cry  of  extremity,  still  kneeling  at 
his  feet. 

"  Speak   to   me,  if  only  one   word  ;   but  let   that  word  be 


150  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVF.RIE. 

paraiii!"  and  I  buried  my  face  against  his  knees,  and  clasped 
them  wildly. 

He  did  not  speak  to  me — he  could  not.  Jasper  told  me  after- 
ward that  he  had  never  seen  a  man  more  affected  ;  but,  suddenly 
raising  me  to  a  seat,  he  passed  from  the  room  abruptly.  Had  he 
carried  the  petition  with  him  ?  I  dared  not  ask  1 

There  have  been  weeks  to  me  more  fleet  than  the  brief  moments 
of  his  absence.  It  seems,  even  now,  in  looking  back  upon  it,  to 
hare  been  a  long  and  dreary  interval  of  half-consciousness,  such  as 
the  soul  might  experience  in  the  sepulchral  period  between  death 
and  judgment,  could  such  a  ghastly  inconsistency  be  true. 

He  returned,  and  handed  a  paper  to  Jasper,  who  examined  it 
deliberately,  then  brought  it  to  me.  I  rose  to  receive  it,  I  trem- 
bled, I  grasped  at  the  nearest  chair.  The  room  seemed  to  reel 
around  me,  the  carpet  rose  hi  waves,  and  the  roar  of  waters 
was  on  my  ear.  I  had  overtasked  my  strength,  it  forsook  me, 
and  I  fell  forward  fainting  at  Governor  Stiuntou's  feet,  still  hold- 
ing to  my  heart  the  paper  I  could  not  read,  but  which  I  knew 
contained  my  grandfather's  pardon. 


THE   HOUBIaloCb   OF  BOUVEEIB.  151 


CHAPTER  IX. 

JASPEK  returned  alone  to  Bouverie.  The  fever  that  the  tumult 
of  the  last  week  had  stirred  in  my  blood,  laid  violent  hands  upoii 
me  now,  and  for  ten  days  I  did  not  lift  my  head  from  its  pillow. 
I  was  cared  for  in  Governor  Staunton's  family,  like  one  of  them  ; 
and  Dr.  Quintil,  wisest  of  leeches,  kindest  of  nurses,  kept  constant 
watch  by  my  side.  He  never  considered  me  in  immediate  danger, 
which  alone  would  have  brought  my  grandmother  from  her 
habitual  seclusion,  and  her  ill  husband  ;  yet  it  was  nearly  three 
weeks  before  I  felt  strong  enough  to  set  forth  on  my  homeward 
way.  My  very  anxiety  to  do  this,  interfered  with  my  ability  to 
undertake  the  journey,  I  hare  no  doubt,  since  every  wish,  dream, 
and  thought  of  my  being  pointed  to  Bouverie,  and  prevented  that 
repose  of  mind  most  conducive  to  speedy  recovery.  Jasper  came 
and  went  repeatedly,  during  this  interval,  detailing  to  me  faith- 
fully, as  far  as  it  was  judicious  to  do  so,  the  condition  of  things 
at  home,  and  bringing  me  messages  of  love  from  my  grand- 
parents. 

Mr.  Clavering,  too,  came  more  than  once  during  my  conva- 
lescence, and  was  received,  on  the  last  occasion  of  his  calling,  a 
few  days  before  I  left  Bellevue.  He  remained  some  hours,  and 
confirmed  the  delightful  impression  he  had  made  at  first ;  and  yet, 
there  was  nothing  in  his  manner  then,  to  prepare  me  for  what 
followed  so  soon  afterward.  "When  at  last  the  hour  came  for  my 
departure,  there  was  a  tender  leave-taking  between  their  guest  and 
the  whole  family,  from  the  governor's  wife  and  daughters  down  tc 


152  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIK. 

the  sable  attendants,  who  had  done  so  much  to  alleviate  her  suf- 
ferings. Gold  could  not  pay  for  such  kindness  as  these  domestics 
had  lavished  upon  me,  though  Dr.  Quintil  spared  not  this  on  the 
occasion  of  niy  recovery,  so  important  to  him,  he  thought,  and  all 
that  loved  me.  "Wrapped  in  shawls  and  furs,  I  was  placed  by  the 
governor's  own  hands — for  he  would  have  it  thus — in  his  comfort- 
able family  carriage,  and  drawn  swiftly  home  by  his  four  stout 
horses.  The  twenty  miles  were  accomplished  in  a  few  hours. 

"  Rouse,  Lilian,"  said  Dr.  Quintil — for  with  the  languor  still 
clinging  around  me  of  recent  sickness,  I  dozed  nearly  all  the  dis- 
tance— "  and  look  your  best.  We  are  approaching  Bouvcrie."  I 
sat  up,  and,  for  one  moment,  I  was  a  child  again,  so  vividly  did 
that  hour  return  to  my  recollection,  when  he  brought  me  home 
first,  and  spoke  to  me  in  nearly  the  same  words  ;  and  now,  as  then, 
the  branches  swept  across  the  carriage  with  their  harsh,  repulsive 
grating,  though  clothed  with  autumn  foliage  before,  and  bare  and 
desolate  now.  But  the  very  opposite  to  this  contrast  had 
occurred  in  my  own  being.  The  blank  misery  of  my  childish  deso- 
lation had  been  replaced  by  blessings  unspeakable,  and  the  vivid- 
ness with  which,  for  a  moment,  the  past  returned  to  me,  and  the 
joy  with  which  I  put  it  aside,  proved,  by  the  bleak  anguish  it 
occasioned  me,  the  infinite  superiority  of  my  present  lot. 

"  Thank  God  !  we  are  at  home  again  !"  I  murmured,  as  the 
carriage  paused  before  the  door,  where  fond  arms  were  open  to 
receive  me,  and  words,  and  smiles,  and  tears,  vied  in  endearment 
of  Welcome. 

"  My  Lilian  has  been  ill  1"  my  grandmother  said  ;  "  more  ill 
than  they  told  me.  I  see  from  her  changed  face  and  shrunken 
form." 

"  Never  mind  that,  now,  dear  grandmother  ;  how  is  he  ?" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVEBIB.  153 

"  Oh,  better,  Lilian,  better !  yet,  to  the  outward  eye  alone, 
much  worse  !  Worn  to  a  shadow,  passing  tranquilly  away,  at 
peace  with  God  and  man — a  lowly  Christian  at  last,  for  he  has 
received  baptism,  and  even  the  extreme  unction.  All  worldly 
schemes  and  visions  laid  at  rest.  You  will  find  him  thus, 
Lilian." 

We  went  in  together,  after  I  had  laid  aside  my  wrappings,  and 
smoothed  my  hair,  so  that  I  might  not  seem  unfamiliar  to  his 
eyes.  He  was  lying  on  his  couch,  placed  at  right  angles  with 
the  fire,  facing  the  great  bow-window  in  her  chamber,  which  my 
grandmother's  thoughtful  hand  had  lined  with  blooming  plants,  in 
vivid  contrast  with  the  desolation  without.  He  seemed  to  be 
gazing,  wrapped  in  thought,  perhaps,  through  the  transparent 
panes,  on  the  desolate  face  of  nature  spread  before  his  view,  dearer 
to  his  long  imprisoned  eye  than  all  the  beauty  of  artificial  bloom. 
His  face  was  averted,  as  we  entered  ;  but,  hearing  our  steps,  he 
turned.  I  was  not  prepared  for  such  a  startling  change.  I  had 
not  thought  that  one  always  so  thin  could  be  so  much  thinner. 
God  forgive  me,  if  the  idea  of  a  "  weir  wolf"  suggested  itself  to 
me  as  I  beheld  him.  And  there  lay  my  broken  idol  1 

"  Oh,  grandfather  1"  I  murmured,  kneeling  beside  him,  and 
smothering  my  cries  in  the  bed-clothes,  yet  sobbing  convulsively.  I 
felt  his  hand  patting  my  head  feebly  for  some  tune  before  he  spoke. 

"  Don't,  darling  !  don't  1"  he  said  at  last.  "  Be  patient,  your 
trouble  will  soon  be  over.  Don't  make  me  cough,  Lilian." 

I  was  calm  in  a  moment,  as  I  have  once  before  said,  as  by  an 
impulse  of  self-command,  and  looking  up,  I  tried  to  smile  on  him, 
through  my  bitter,  blinding  tears. 

"  It  was  hardly  worth  the  effort,  Lilian  ;  the  ride,  and  the 
ecene,  and  the  sickness,  to  save  such  a  poor  effigy  of  life  as 


154  THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE. 

remains  to  me.  Yet  it  was  weE  meant,  and  nobly  done,  and  I 
thank  you." 

I  kissed  his  emaciated  hands,  his  skeleton  forehead,  for  all 
answer,  and  passing  my  hand  through  his  still  beautiful  waving 
hair,  proiuse  as  that  of  a  boy,  gazed  at  him  steadfastly,  mourn- 
fully. He  was  indeed  passing  away.  The  comparison  of  the 
sword  wearing  through  the  sheath,  suited  the  peculiarity  of  his 
decay.  The  glimmer  of  the  steel  might  almost  be  imagined  in 
that  brilliant,  dying  face.  His  eyes,  once  small  in  comparison 
with  his  other  features,  now  rolled  in  their  sunken  sockets,  like 
great  glittering  globes  of  quicksilver  covered  with  a  glaze  of 
black  glass ;  his  magnificent  teeth  stood  out  in  skeleton  fierce- 
ness, the  tight  lips  scarcely  covering  them,  and  the  skin  seemed 
growing  literally  to  his  cheek-bones  and  temples  ;  the  last  pil- 
lared and  ridged  like  those  of  a  grand  old  statue.  "  Oh,  what  a 
man  was  here  in  the  beginning,"  I  thought.  "  What  process  of 
mind,  of  education,  or  of  circumstance  had  power  to  warp  this 
majestic  creature  from  his  native  integrity  ?  Has  he  been,  like 
Job,  a  mere  sport  of  evil  spirits,  an  experiment  in  the  hands  of 
his  Maker  ?  Oh,  no,  no  I  I  will  not  dream  such  things  even  ! 
I  dare  not,  it  is  blasphemous.  I  am  groping  in  the  shadow  at 
best,  and  fate  is  above  all  comprehension.  His  was  a  dark, 
dark  destiny  1" 

With  thoughts  like  these  at  work  in  my  bosom,  I  rose  and  left 
him  for  a  time,  until  rest  and  refreshment  should  prepare  me 
more  fully  to  assist  those  around  me  in  the  arduous  task  of  watch- 
ing him  night  and  day,  as  they  were  obliged  to  do  toward  the  last. 

As  the  strength  of  others  declined,  and  mine  returned,  he  be- 
came my  almost  nightly  charge.  He  slept  so  ill  that  he  enjoyed 
my  society  more  during  the  night  watch  than  any  other  time. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.  155 

He  used  to  remark  that  my  voice  refreshed  him,  like  the  sound  of 
falling  water.  "  It  is  so  clear,  so  sweet,  so  life-giving,"  he  would 
say,  "  in  comparison  with  those  disciplined  tones  that  tell  of  hard 
world  service,  and  practised  restraint." 

"Thank  God,  Lilian  1"  he  observed  to  me  one  night,  "if  only  for 
the  glorious  gift  of  impulse  you  possess.  When  it  belongs  to  a 
vigorous  nature  like  yours,  no  better  steed  could  be  found  to  bear 
one  over  the  rough  places  of  life,  but  like  the  flying  horse  of  the 
Indian  in  Arabian  story,  it  takes  a  strong  hand  to  govern  and  to 
guide." 

"  Woe  then  for  the  weakly  impulsive,  grandfather,"  I  said  ; 
"  better  coldness  and  caution  forever.  It  is  at  best  a  dangerous 
gift." 

"  I  have  never  been  impulsive,"  he  said.  "  I  know  not  the  joy, 
the  triumph  of  the  sensation.  All  that  I  have  done  wrong,  aa 
men  esteem  these  things,  has  been  done  deliberately,  and  has  never 
been  regretted." 

"  Oh,  grandfather,  I  am  grieved  to  hear  this  from  your  lips.  I 
never  believed  it  before." 

"  You  do  not  make  the  proper  distinction,  child.  In  looking 
back  over  my  life,  I  can  see  where  I  have  erred  :  it  must  be  so, 
since  others  have  suffered  by  my  acts.  Yet  I  think  I  would  do 
the  same  thing  again  with  the  same  motives  at  work,  and  do 
them  with  the  same  deliberation,  and  having  so  done  them,  re- 
morse becomes  hypocrisy.  It  is  only  the  impulsive  who  can  atone 
by  penitence  for  their  ill  deeds ;  cool  offenders  are  shut  out  by 
the  nature  of  things  from  any  such  resource." 

"  Oh,  grandfather,  all  is  forgiven  now  1  You  have  clasped  the 
holy  cross,  you  are  a  Christian  1" 

He  did  not  answer  for  some  time  ;  at  last  he  said  : 


156          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKEE. 

"  I  am  glad  you  mentioned  the  word  'cross,'  Lilian.  I  would 
speak  to  you  of  yours.  I  have  done  worse  things  that  have  cost 
me  fewer  pangs  than  the  crushing  of  your  little  cross." 

"  Never  miud  that  now,  grandfather ;  it  occasions  me  no 
longer  a  regret,  a  thought  even.  Be  at  peace." 

"  That  was  a  failure  like  the  rest,  Lilian.  I  will  not  die  de- 
ceiving you."  (Alas,  I  had  known  it  ever  since  the  conversation 
with  my  grandmother  about  the  ring  and  the  gnome  eye  jewel.) 
"  But  I  have  kept  this  splendid  gem  for  you,  not  so  much  to  repay 
you  for  the  loss  of  your  diamonds,  as  to  prove  my  affection  for 
you.  It  is  the  jewel  I  have  most  valued  of  all  I  have  ever  pos- 
sessed ;  a  great  monarch  placed  it  on  my  hand,  a  bold,  bad  man, 
like  myself,  Lilian,  but  shielded  away  from  human  censure  by 
almost  superhuman  power,"  and  he  drew  from  his  bosom  and 
opened  the  small  mother  of  pearl  box  containing  the  magnificent 
jewel,  now  restored  to  its  setting. 

"  Take  it,  my  love,"  he  said,  "  and  keep  it  for  my  sake."  I 
received  it  mutely.  "  It  is  all  I  have  to  bequeath  to  you,  Lilian," 
he  added.  "  My  estate,  whatever  it  is,  has  long  been  testated  to 
your  grandmother  during  her  life.  I  made  my  will  in  a  prison  of 
Russia,  and  will  not  change  it  now  that  devotion  and  self-sacrifice 
on  her  part  have  more  than  ever  entitled  her  to  enjoy  its  provisions  ; 
but  all  will  be  yours  some  day — yours  and  Jasper's,"  he  almost 
gasped.  The  compromise  cost  him  dear  ;  how  bitter  were  his 
prejudices.  "  They  have  told  me  all,"  he  added,  gloomily.  "  I 
bore  the  announcement  calmly — necessity  knows  no  law — yet  it 
was  the  last  bitter  drop  that  made  my  cup  run  over.  Poetical 
justice,  sentimental  people  would  call  such  a  union — eh,  Lilian  P 
he  said,  with  that  sudden  levity  habitual  to  him,  and  with  hi^ 
bright,  sarcastic  smile.  "  I  call  it,"  he  began — "  bar  " 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  157 

"  Grandfather  !"  I  laid  niy  deprecating  hand  on  his,  and 
checked  the  expression  he  was  about  to  utter.  "  We  will  waive 
this  subject,  if  you  please,"  I  said  gravely,  "  at  least  until,  you 
can  consider  it  more  complacently." 

"  Forever  then,"  he  replied  with  a  slight  impatient  gesture,  nor 
was  it  ever  resumed  between  us.  "  And  now,  Lilian,  will  you 
read  me  from  the  Bible  ?" 

"  What  portion,  grandfather  ?"  I  asked  eagerly,  thrilled  as  I 
was  by  the  unusual  nature  of  the  request.  "  Which  of  the  books 
of  the  Apostles  shall  I  choose  ?" 

"Neither,"  he  said.  "They  do  not  stir  me,  Lilian.  Read  to 
me  from  the  Book  of  Job,  the  grand  lamentations  of  the  man 
whose  clue  of  fate  was  given  into  Satan's  hand  ;  or  read  me 
the  solemn  charge  of  Jacob  to  his  sons,  and  let  me  interpret  my 
own  nature  therefrom  ;  or  read  me  David's  death  scene,  and  his 
last  words  to  Solomon,  when  the  hoarded  hate  of  a  whole  life 
burst  forth  and  asserted  wronged  human  nature,  triumphant  to 
the  last,  over  all  the  mummery  of  priesthood.  I  should  have 
lived  in  those  days,  Lilian  !  Men  acted  out  their  natures  then, 
and  power  was  called  munificence,  and  will  inspiration.  David 
was  a  man  after  God's  own  heart,  yet  how  have  I  been 
worse  than  David?  Only  unsuccessful,  Lilian — a  reproach  in 
itself !" 

"  Oh,  grandfather,  different  conduct  is  demanded  now.  Christ's 
teachings" I  commenced. 

"  Lilian,  the  heart  of  man  is  unchanged  by  time  ;  it  beats  now 
as  in  the  days  of  Jacob,  attuned  to  the  self-same  chords  of  love, 
hatred,  self-interest,  that  ruled  it  then.  These  new  precepts  are 
only  skin  deep,  they  improve  the  surface  of  society  only  ;  the  old 
sores  fester  within." 


158  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUYEREE. 

There  was  no  use  of  reasoning  with  him,  his  sophistry  had  so 
completely  taken  possession  of  his  being  that  its  subtle  poison 
had  penetrated  to  the  very  sources  of  thought  itself  ;  but  I  re- 
flected how  directly  opposed  to  all  he  was  saying,  and  deluding 
himself  to  believe,  had  been  the  conduct  of  his  own  household  of 
Bouverie.  One  need  to  have  gone  no  further  to  have  proved 
the  beauty  and  the  truth  of  Christian  law,  comprised  in  the 
few  words,  love,  duty,  and  forbearance,  for  self-sacrifice  is  only 
the  result,  the  aggregate  of  these  three,  and  includes  forgive- 
ness. 

"You  are  not  going  to  read  to  me,  Lilian?"  he  went  on  to 
say,  after  waiting  a  moment  for  me  to  begin. 

"Yes  indeed,  grandfather,  gladly,  whenever  you  make  your 
selection.  What  shall  it  be  ?  Perhaps  you  will  listen  to 
one  of  the  Psalms,  grandfather  ?"  I  asked,  almost  afraid  that 
he  would  refuse  me.  I  understood  from  a  motion  of  his  hand 
that  I  might  proceed.  I  read  to  him  first  the  fifty-second 
Psalm,  and  afterward,  encouraged  by  his  silence,  the  one  hun- 
dred and  second  Psalm,  as  those  which,  as  well  as  I  could 
remember,  best  suited  his  condition.  He  was  profoundly 
touched.  He  groaned  aloud  when  I  read  the  verse  in  the 
first,  "Deliver  me  from  blood  guiltiness,  0  my  God,  thou 
God  of  my  salvation,  and  my  tongue  shall  sing  aloud  of  thy 
righteousness  ;"  and  when,  a  little  further  on,  I  came  to  the  pas- 
sage, "  The  sacrifices  of  God  are  a  broken  spirit ;  a  broken  and  a 
contrite  heart,  O  God,  thou  wilt  not  despise."  He  covered  his 
face  suddenly  with  his  hands,  and  shook  convulsively.  When  I 
had  finished  reading  the  second  Psalm,  he  repeated  after  me  a  few 
sentences  that  had  touched  him,  as  if  unconsciously.  He  had 
Twrhaps  committed  them  in  childhood,  for  I  can  scarcely  thiuk  ouo 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.          159 

hearing  would  have  impressed  his  ear  so  accurately.    They  were 
these  : 

"  '  My  heart  is  smitten  and  withered  like  grass,  so  that  I  forget  to  eat  my 
bread. 

"  '  By  reason  of  my  groaning,  my  bones  cleave  to  my  skin. 

"  '  Mine  enemies  reproach  me  all  the  day,  and  they  that  are  mad 
against  me  are  sworn  against  me. 

" '  For  I  have  eaten  ashes  like  bread,  and  mingled  my  drink  with 
weeping. 

"  '  Because  of  thy  indignation  and  thy  wrath,  for  thou  hast  lifted  me  up 
and  cast  me  down. 

" '  My  days  are  like  a  shadow  that  declineth,  and  I  am  withered  like 
grass.' " 

Or  perhaps  in  his  great  solitude  my  grandfather  had  made  that 
marvellous  mirror  of  the  heart  of  man  his  study,  and  found  in 
the  masterpiece  of  antiquity,  with  all  its  horrors  and  magnificent 
rhapsodies,  companionship  more  suitable  to  his  nature  than  in  the 
teachings  of  the  meek  and  perfect  Jesus.  Be  it  as  it  may,  he  seemed 
to  revel  in  the  grand  imagery  and  terse  eloquence  of  the  inspired 
Jewish  writers,  and  to  feel  himself  at  home  with  those  sentiments 
from  which  Christians  naturally  recoil. 

I  began  to  think  Bishop  Clarj3  was  right,  and  that  for  some 
natures,  at  least,  the  Bible  was  dangerous  food.  The  ancient 
Bible  I  mean  only.  No  one  could  mistake  the  teachings  of  Christ, 
too  simple  to  need  a  creed,  or  require  an  interpreter.  Let  every 
man  read  for  himself,  and  seek  assistance,  not  guidance,  in  the 
light  of  others,  according  to  his  best  necessities — 

"  So  shall  the  world  be  purified  and  made 
Fit  for  the  glory  of  the  latter  days." 


160 

During  another  night-watch,  when  the  subject  nearest  the 
hearts  of  all  that  loved  or  cared  for  him  was  again  introduced,  I 
ventured  to  offer  him  my  heartfelt  congratulations  on  the  pros- 
pect of  eternal  happiness  before  him. 

"  Eternal  happiness  !"  he  repeated,  "  why  not  eternal  despair 
as  well,  Lilian  ?  Facts  are  indestructible,  philosophers  say,  and 
if  I  deserved  God's  punishment  once,  I  deserve  it  still.  But, 
fortunately  for  my  peace  of  mind,  I  have  long  known  that 
there  is  but  one  thing  eternal  in  God's  universe,  and  that  is 
change.  Mutability  is  the  sole  permanence." 

"  Oh,  grandfather,  this  is  self-mockery,  and  you  cannot,  must  not 
believe  so  darkly.  I  was  so  happy  in  the  belief  that  you  were 
a  Catholic,  and  open  to  the  conviction  of  a  death-bed  repentance." 

"  Have  I  not  told  you,  that  it  lay  not  in  me  to  repent ;  what 
more  remains  ?  Yet  above  all  human  institutions  of  the  sort,  I 
respect  that  church,  and  it  was  due  to  others,  to  Camilla,,  to 
Bishop  Clare,  to  my  ancestry  even,  to  avow  my  allegiance  to  its 
magnificence,  its  antiquity,  its  merciful  tenets,  so  superior  to  all 
other  Christian  teachings." 

He  paused  for  a  reply.     I  made  none.     He  continued  : 

"  You  arc  disappointed.  I  am  sorry.  Yet  I  will  not  deceive 
you,  Lilian  ;  '  deep  calls  unto  deep,'  you  know,  and  '  blood  answers 
unto  true  blood.'  Let  others  enjoy  the  happiness  of  delusion  in 
my  case,  if  happiness  it  be.  You  must  know  the  truth,  come  weal 
come  woe.  Yet  be  discreet  ;  let  no  one  suffer  through  these 
revelations.  I  have  done  my  best  to  satisfy  all  around  me  as  far 
as  externals  go.  For  the  inner  man  I  am  accountable  and  respon- 
sible to  God  alone." 

"  Such  an  accountability,  grandfather  !"  I  groaned  rather  than 
nttered  "  Such  a  dreadful  responsibility  !  Oh,  trust  in  Jesus, 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          161 

the  mediator,  the  comforter,  the  atoner,  by  whose  precious  blood 
alone  your  skis  can  be  washed  away  1" 

"  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  accept  this  faith,"  he  said  earnestly. 
"  It  is  beautiful,  but  impossible.  Belief  cannot  be  compelled.  I 
am  not  to  blame,  therefore,  even  in  the  eyes  of  Divinity,  if  I 
remain  incredulous.  The  perfect  Christ  will  pity  and  forgive  me, 
if  wrong  ;  and  for  the  rest,  God  knows  I  have  suffered  enough, 
nor  have  I  wearied  any  ear,  not  even  his,  with  my  complaints. 
If  there  is  anything  further  to  be  endured,  I  shall  count  my- 
self persecuted,  and  take  satisfaction  in  the  thought.  God 
is  just,  I  hope,  and  justice  is  all  I  ask.  A  quiet  sleep  with 
no  awakening.  It  is  a  reasonable  request.  He  will  grant  it, 
Lilian,  or  we  _have  mistaken  his  nature." 

"  And  your  immortal  soul,  grandfather  ?  Think  you  that  can 
sleep  forever  ?" 

j  [;.;,:    -{HI  »iJ;  ' 

He  smiled  his  brilliant,  Voltaire  smile,  mocking  and  shimmer- 
ing as  sheet  lightning. 

"  Life  is  the  soul,"  he  said.  "  When  that  is  extinct,  all  is 
over.  Blow  out  the  candle,  whither  goes  the  flame  ?" 

"  Oh,  grandfather,  you  seal  our  eternal  separation  by  such 
words.  If  your  doctrine  were  true,  how  dark,  how  terrible  would 
our  parting  seem  to  me.  But  no,  thank  heaven,  mere  belief  can 
mold  no  law  of  life  or  death,  and  I  will  wrestle  for  you  against 
this  terrible  conviction,  with  prayer  and  faith,  as  Jacob  wrestled 
all  night  in  his  tent  with  the  unseen  enemy,  and  rose  exhausted, 
yet  victorious  at  the  last." 

"  Lilian,  this  is  vain.  I  have  lived  my  life  ;  it  has  been  a 
failure,  and  life-worshipper  as  I  am,  and  have  been,  I  would  not 
undertake  it  again  if  I  could,  even  in  this  delightful  world.  I 
desire  no  new  theatre  of  action.  Peace,  quiet,  rest,  these  are  all 


162  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEREE. 

the  future  presents  desirable  or  endurable  even,  to  the  schemer, 
the  dreamer,  the  lover,  the  hater  of  his  kind,  the  greatly-erring, 
yet  deeply  suffering  mortal,  Erastus  Bouverie." 

Yet  again  I  read  to  him,  and  at  his  own  request,  portions  of 
those  beautiful  Psalms,  in  hearing  which  he  seemed  now  to  place 
his  chief  comfort ;  making  me  repeat  almost  daily  that  which 
appeared  his  favorite,  beginning — "Save  me,  0  JLord,  for  the 
waters  have  come  in  unto  my  soul." 

I  have  heard  him,  with  ineffable  pity,  murmuring  portions  of 
this  Psalm  in  his  broken  slumber  : 

"  Let  me  be  delivered  from  them  that  hate  me,  and  out  of  the  deep 
waters. 

"  Thou  hast  known  my  reproach,  and  my  shame,  and  my  dishonor.  My 
adversaries  are  all  before  thee. 

"  Reproach  hath  broken  my  heart,  and  I  am  full  of  heaviness." 

These  are  some  passages  that  I  remember  to  have  gathered 
from  his  sleeping  lips. 

But  if  these  grand  and  sorrowful  lamentations  escaped  him 
during  periods  of  unconsciousness,  not  less  did  his  slumbers  reveal 
the  unquiet  nature  of  his  ever  recurring  thoughts  to  those  strange 
visions  which  had  once  blindly  possessed  him.  I  believe  that  my 
grandmother,  from  the  very  exhaustion  of  her  nervous  condition, 
was  spared  the  suffering  of  hearing  or  understanding  those  muttered 
words,  which  revealed  so  much  that  he  disavowed  when  conscious 
and  awake.  With  his  elixir  of  gold,  an  exciting  remedy,  which 
the  physicians  sternly  forbade,  provoking  hemorrhage,  as  it  now 
invariably  did,  he  seemed  to  have  put  away  all  his  mad  dreams  of 
alchemy,  and  schemes  of  unbounded  fcrtune.  But  his  sleeping 
lips  murmured  a  different  story. 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  163 

"  We  Khali  yet  succeed,  Fabius,"  he  would  mutter ;  "  build 
the  fires,  we  are  losing  time." 

Again.  "  Boiling  gold  !  It  is  a  glorious  sight.  The  sun  was 
made  this  way.  Light  was  an  afterthought." 

"  Old  man,"  he  said  one  day,  "  this  is  our  last  throw  for 
fortune.  We  must  compel  them  into  one.  More  pressure, 
Fabius.  You  are  timid,  let  me  have  the  handle.  My  God  !  all 
is  lost ! 

"  Diamonds  I  frigid  fire  you  mean,"  he  whispered,  "  how  glo- 
rious they  are  !  the  souls  of  the  mineral  kingdom.  Ah,  give 
me  my  gnome  eye,  there  is  luck  in  that  1  Napoleon  lost  it  at 
Moscow,  they  say.  Alexander  found  it.  Fortune  changed  mas- 
ters there — that  was  all.  Fate  is  chance." 

It  was  merciful  to  rouse  him  at  such  times,  he  seemed  to  suffer 
so,  to  strain  every  nerve,  every  muscle,  and  to  speak  with  such 
difficulty.  Violent  fits  of  coughing  usually  succeeded  these  som- 
nambulic  phases  ;  and  in  one  of  these,  surrounded  by  his  house- 
hold, impotent  to  aid  him,  yet  suffering  with  him  every  convulsive 
throb,  and  lying  in  the  arms  of  his  weeping  wife,  whose  embrace 
could  with  difficulty  restrain  him  in  his  fierce  agony,  he  suddenly 
expired. 

We  could  scarcely  realize  death  in  the  swiftness  of  his  doom. 
An  hour  before  he  had  been  laughing,  jesting  even,  in  his  peculiar 
way,  had  taken  food,  then  slept,  muttered  in  his  sleep,  roused  up 
coughing,  and  stepped  at  once  into  the  awful  Presence.  He 
lay  pale,  rigid,  masterful  even  in  death  ;  foam  on  his  pale 
lips,  tinged  with  blood,  constantly  exuding,  constantly  wiped 
away  by  her  whose  blood  it  was,  during  the  long,  dull  day, 
the  creeping,  mournful  night  that  interposed  between  him  and 
the  grave. 


104:  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE. 

We  laid  him  at  the  foot  of  that  marble  monument,  erected 
years  before  over  his  seeming  grave,  and  on  which  his  name  alone 
was  written  ;  to  which  my  grandmother  caused  to  be  added,  the 
simple  word,  "  INFELIX." 


[The  narrative  of  Lilian  de  Courcy  was  never  resumed.  It  was  the  work 
of  another  hand  to  write  these  concluding  chapters,  which  embrace  Boos 
EIGHTH  OF  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  Bouvsuis.} 


BOOK  EIGHTH. 


"  It  must 

Save  been  some  coinage  of  thy  phantasy ; 
Such  melancholy  as  thou  feedest,  is 
Skillful  in  forming  such  in  the  vain  air, 
Out  of  the  motes  and  atoms  of  the  day." 

"  Oh !  would  it  were 
Delusion — but  I  fear  some  greater  ilL" 

SUELLET  (Calderon). 

•In  each  low  wind  methinks  a  spirit  calls, 
And  more  than  echoes  talk  along  the  walls." 

POPE'S  ELOISA. 

*  HOT  stand*  the  great  account  ".*ixt  me  and  vengeance  ?" 

TOOK. 


BOOK     EIGHTH. 

CHAPTER  I. 

/ 
IT  was  toward  the    end  of  the  month  of  September,  twelve 

years  after  the  death  of  the  master,  that  a  plain  bat  handsome 
carriage  was  seen  to  drive  through  the  grounds  of  Bouverie,  and 
stop  at  the  front  door  of  the  mansion,  under  the  shadow  of  those 
spreading  Norway  firs,  that  grew  to  the  height  of  more  than 
thirty  feet,  before  the  portico. 

An  aged  but  still  stately  man,  white-haired,  eagle-eyed,  and  of 
true  soldierly  bearing,  descended  first  from  the  vehicle,  and 
extended  an  assisting  hand,  his  only  one,  for  the  coat-sleeve  of 
the  left  arm  hung  loosely  by  his  side,  to  the  youthful  looking  lady, 
and  the  two  fair  children  who  followed  her. 

A  liveried  servant  who  sat  on  the  box  beside  the  coachman, 
had,  in  the  meantime,  after  opening  the  coach-door,  ascended  the 
steps,  and  rung  two  or  three  brisk  peals  on  the  hall-bell.  The 
summons  was  answered,  a  little  tardily,  by  a  demure-looking, 
dark-eyed  woman,  past  middle  age  ;  brown  of  face,  slight  in 
form,  and  neatly  dressed,  in  a  close-fitting  cap  of  snowy  white- 
ness, and  a  imu-like  dress  of  black — whose  prim  features  relaxed 
into  a  pleased  smile,  as  she  thought  she  recognized  in  the  guests, 
now  standing  on  the  marble  platform  by  the  door — those  who 
had  been  for  some  days  past  hourly  expected  at  Bouverie. 

"  Come  in,  Colonel  de  Courcy  and  Lady  Edith,"  she  said,  with 
the  somewhat  familiar  politeness  of  a  privileged  domestic.  "  For 


168  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

such,  I  think,  I  can  venture  to  call  your  names.  Mrs.  Quintilian 
las  been  looking  for  you  for  three  days  past,  at  every  arrival  of 
;he  train,  and  this  is  the  first  time  she  has  been  out  of  the  place 
.vhen  the  carriage  came  back  from  the  depot.  But  that  is  always 
;he  way  when  friends  are  coming  ;  we  look,  and  look  for  them, 
and,  after  all,  they  frequently  take  us  quite  unawares. 

"  Walk  in,  if  you  please,"  she  continued,  throwing  wide  open 
the  leaves  of  the  door  of  the  drawing-room.  "  The  mistress  just 
stepped  out  to  see  about  Patrick  McCormick's  sick  child  (our 
gardener,  he  is,  Lady  Edith).  It  won't  be  many  minutes  before 
she  hears  of  your  arrival.  In  the  meantime,  I  will  go  and  make 
arrangements  for  baths  and  refreshments,  for  you  must  be  tired 
and  dusty,  Lady  Edith — and  the  poor  dears  1  hungry,  no 
doubt  1"  and  she  bustled  away,  somewhat  to  the  relief  of  the 
newly-arrived  guests,  accustomed  to  English  quiet  on  the  part  of 
servants — and  of  course,  wholly  unconscious  of  Bianca's  true 
position  in  the  household  of  Bouverie. 

Mrs.  Quintilian  was  not  quite  so  readily  found,  as  Bianca  had  sup- 
posed she  would  be.  After  leaving  the  bedside  of  the  sick  child, 
having  first  coaxed  him  into  taking  his  medicine  (refused  until 
then  with  an  obstinate  pertinacity,  worthy  of  his  paternity),  she 
had  wandered  into  the  oak  forest,  hard  by  Patrick's  cottage,  and 
musing  there,  amid  the  falling  leave*,  she  had  lost  sight  of  the 
hour,  which  might  bring  her  guests  to  Bouverie. 

Full  thirty  minutes  elapsed  between  the  disappearance  ot 
Bianca,  and  the  advent  of  "  the  mistress," — an  interval  employed 
by  the  restless  boys  in  close  but  respectful  observation  of  the 
miniature  statues,  shells  and  vases,  of  a  rosewood  etagere — one  of 
the  few  modern  innovations  visible  in  the  drawing-room  of 
Bouverie. 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOUVEKIE.  169 

But  the  elder  guests  were  attracted  by  the  pictures  that  lined 
the  walls,  many  of  which  were  from  the  hand  of  Jasper  Quin- 
tiiian.  To  the  portraits  already  referred  to  in  the  past  narrative 
two  only  had  been  added.  One,  a  fine  full-length  of  Bishop  Clare, 
in  his  pontifical  robes,  another  the  beautiful  and  spiritual  head  of 
Jasper  Quintilian  himself.  But  these  were  the  work  of  another 
artist. 

Colonel  de  Courcy,  who  was  a  judge  of  art,  was  perfectly 
spell-bound  before  the  picture  of  "Aurora  Awakening,"  one  of 
those  already  alluded  to  by  Lilian  de  Courcy,  as  the  companion  of 
the  "  Dying  Flora," 

The  scene  represented  was  in  a  cavern,  supported  by  irregular 
columns  of  stalactite  formation,  through  a  ragged  and  remote 
rent  in  the  roof  of  which  you  see  the  morning  star,  relieved  by  a 
crimson  streak  of  dawn  beyond.  Aurora  is  in  the  act  of  rising 
on  one  arm,  from  the  mossy  bed  on  which  she  has  been  reposing, 
sleeping  attendants  recline  around  her  in  various  attitudes,  and 
one  very  beautifd  figure  aits  with  folded  wings  and  cheek 
drooped  on  her  elevated  knees,  around  which  her  hands  are 
lightly  clasped,  leaning  against  a  column. 

The  expression  conveyed  is  one  of  profound  repose,  an  extin- 
guished torch  lies  beside  her.  The  face  of  the  goddess  wears  that 
exquisite  freshness  and  glad  surprise  that  we  see  only  in  the  faces 
of  children  or  the  very  young,  when  sleep  first  forsakes  them 
The  large  dewy  eyes  seem  to  have  been  startled  from  slumber 
and  look  out  with  a  shy  and  fawn-like  wildness  on  the  gazer. 
The  crimson  lips  are  parted  with  a  faint  smile,  revealing  the  white 
line  within  in  the  merest  glimpse  of  radiance.  The  hair  falls  in 
soft  shining  curls  of  golden  brown  about  the  throat  and  bosom, 
which  one  slender  hand  is  employed  in  veiling  with  fleecy  <?raperv. 


170  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOIJTERIE. 

A  sculptured  foot  rests  lightly  on  the  floor,  and  part  of  the  beau- 
tifully rounded  limb  above  it  is  visible.  The  other  seems  with- 
drawn among  the  draperies  of  the  couch. 

About  the  whole  figure  breathes  out  a  faint  roseate  mist, 
through  which  objects  beyond  are  distinctly,  yet  dimly  revealed. 
Beside  the  couch  stands  Hesperus  (or  Phosphor  ?)  with  a  lighted 
torch.  This  exquisite  shape  conveys  an  idea  of  eager  impulse  im- 
possible to  describe.  A  lark  flutters  at  his  feet.  There  are  other 
accessories,  but  these  are  the  distinctive  features  of  the  painting. 

While  Colonel  de  Courcy  contemplated  this  picture  with  un- 
feigned delight,  Lady  Edith  Sinclair  stood  wrapt  beneath  the 
portrait  of  Mrs.  Bouverie,  painted  in  her  youth,  by  a  native 
artist,  who  knew  better  than  any  other  how  to  idealize  and  per- 
petuate beauty. 

"  How  beautiful  and  spirited  is  this  head,  dear  uncle  1"  she 
remarked.  "  Could  it  have  been  that  of  Mrs.  Bouverie,  of 
whose  beauty  we  have  heard  so  much  ?  Do  leave  the  ideal,  and 
come  and  look  at  the  actual  with  me  ;  no  picture  charms  me  like 
a  good  portrait,  after  all,  with  its  striking  individuality." 

He  obeyed  her  summons  and  echoed  her  admiration  ;  then 
turning  away,  observed — 

"  I  wish  that  heavy  black  curtain  were  lifted,  that  hides  from 
view  the  picture  above  the  mantel-piece.  I  have  my  suspicions 
that  it  would  reveal  to  us  that  mysterious  personage,  or  his 
semblance  rather,  whose  story  (heard  only  so  far  by  snatches)  has? 
moved  us  so  strongly." 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  admitted  a  gentleman  01 
apparently  about  fifty  years  of  age,  with  whose  appearance  we  are 
already  familiar,  and  the  strangers  were  recalled  at  once  from  ali 
surroundings  to  concentrate  their  attention  on  their  courteous  host. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  171 

Dr.  Quintilian  had  scarcely  dropped  their  cordially  shaken 
hands,  when  he  was  followed  by  the  mistress  of  Bouverie,  who  had 
stopped  a  moment  in  the  hall  to  throw  off  her  bonnet,  and  came 
in  with  the  flush  of  exercise  still  glowing  on  her  cheek. 

Behind  her  appeared  Bianca,  armed  with  a  basket  of  Sickle 
pears,  which  she  exhibited  to  the  longing  eyes  of  the  youthful 
Sinclairs,  and  with  such  temptations  in  view,  and  the  additional 
charm  of  her  own  "  nods  and  becks  and  wreathed  smiles,"  she 
managed  to  draw  them  quietly  and  unobserved,  from  their  alle- 
giance to  the  e'tagere,  and  consign  them  over  to  the  safe  keeping 
of  "Danvers,"  the  English  groom  (their  volunteer  nurse  pro 
tern.)  now  taking  a  cold  cut  in  the  pantry. 

Thus  attention  from  each  other  was  not  diverted  on  the  part 
of  the  principals  of  that  first  interview  by  any  other  presence — 
an  interview  long  desired,  and  not  without  its  own  peculiar  causes 
of  emotion. 

Pass  we  over  this  meeting,  for  which  all  had  been  prepared  by 
expressions  of  mutual  good-will  and  renewed  understanding 
Let  us  rather  record  the  impressions  there  received  by  each  mind 
important  as  these  ever  prove  to  be,  in  the  long  run  of  friend 
ship  and  even  slight  acquaintanceship,  and  sure  as  we  are 
to  return  to  them  at  last,  even  should  they  be  temporarily 
effaced  or  suspended. 

Mrs.  Quintilian  was  struck  by  the  attractive,  frank,  yet  scarcely 
beautiful  face  of  Lady  Edith,<|i  which  she  beheld  reflected  that 
of  the  lover  of  her  youth,  and  was  at  once  prepared  to  accord  her 
a  place  in  ter  affections. 

But  in  Colonel  de  Courcy  she  saw  even  more  to  interest  and 
win  her  warm  regard.  In  his  worn  face  and  lofty  distinguished 
figure — in  the  glance  of  his  eye,  the  bend  of  his  head,  the  onrl 


172  THE   HOUSEHOLD   Ot?    BOUVERIE. 

of  his  lip — she  discerned  the  soldier  and  the  gentleman.  In  every 
feature  might  be  traced  the  struggle  of  a  lifetime  ;  and  the  sound 
of  his  manly,  and  true,  yet  disciplined,  and  deferential  voice, 
revealed  another  phase  in  his  character — its  chivalry  and  ten- 
dency, its  sincerity  and  sentiment. 

Was  he  not,  too,  her  only  remaining  kinsman — close,  however 
distant — because  none  came  between  them?  And  that  empty 
sleeve  !  was  there  not  pathos  in  every  flutter  of  that  useless 
appendage  that  spoke  to  her  woman's  heart  louder  than  words  ? 

Colonel  de  €ourcy  grew  into  her  feelings  at  once,  almost  as  a 
part  of  self,  and  he  in  turn  surveyed  her  from  the  first  with  an 
admiring  respect  he  had  seldom  felt  for  woman  before. 

The  guests  of  Mrs.  Quintilian  were  simultaneously  struck  with 
the  power  and  beauty  of  her  presence  ;'  yet  they  could  scarcely 
nave  analyzed  this  sensation,  had  they  attempted  to  do  so. 

Both  had  seen  women  far  more  beautiful,  as  the  word  goes, 
who  exercised  no  such  impressive  influence  over  them,  even  at 
the  first  meeting  ;  an  influence  that  in  this  instance  deepened 
hour  by  hour,  and  bound  them  to  her  as  closely  in  that  visit  of  a 
fortnight  as  if  they  had  known  her  casually  for  years. 

Colonel  de  Courcy  had  been  prepared  by  his  knowledge  of 
her  life  and  its  motives — never  attained  until  after  the  death  of 
Mr.  Bouverie — and  by  the  letters  she  had  written  to  him  in  answer 
to  those  in  which  he  covered  himself  with  reproaches  (as  a  proud 
nature  is  pleased  to  do  when  acknowledging  its  injustice  to  another, 
for  a  component  part  of  true  pride  is  reparation),  to  see  a  noble 
and  remarkable  woman,  an  "  esprit  fort"  perhaps  ;  but  not  ex- 
actly such  a  woman  as  he  met,  when  he  came  to  Bouverie — fe- 
minine, sensitive,  tender  to  her  very  finger-tips.  It  is  only  when 
we  stand  face  to  face  with  our  fellow-beings  that  we  estimate 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  173 

• 

them  truly,  feelingly.  Whatever  prestige  existed  before,  goes  for 
nothing  in  the  clear  revealing  light  of  ocular  demonstration,  or 
stands  for  what  it  is  worth  only  thenceforth. 

Col.  de  Courcy  was  a  fastidious  man  in  some  things.  He  exacted 
refinement  in  every  woman,  before  he  could  acknowledge  beauty. 
In  Mrs.  Quintilian  he  found  both,  or  rather  admitted  both,  per- 
haps for  the  sake  of  the  indispensable  quality  he  made  his  "  sine 
qua  non."  Yet,  perhaps,  I  do  her  injustice  hi  denying  her  either 
attribute  even  by  insinuation — so,  to  the  analysis!  Her  figure  not 
above  the  middle  height,  yet  justly  and  nobly  proportioned,  with 
+hat  mixture  of  strength  and  slenderness  that  imparts  such  grace 
and  vitality  to  movement,  was  terminated  by  fine  extremities.  The 
face,  oval  in  form,  and  regular  in  outline,  was  of  a  clear,  healthful 
pallor,  seldom  relieved  by  color  at  the  time  of  which  I  write, 
whatever  its  early  tints  might  have  been.  The  skin  was  smooth 
and  finely  grained  with  a  slight  marble-like  gleam  across  the  nose 
and  temples.  The  mouth,  too  large  perhaps,  yet  expressive  of 
sweetness  as  well  as  melancholy  power  when  in  repose,  was  sus- 
ceptible of  a  fine  smile,  revealing  sound  but  not  remarkable  teeth, 
and  the  lips  possessed  the  peculiarity  of  varying  in  tint  according 
to  the  character  of  the  excitement  that  ruled  the  spirit  within. 
The  eyes  large,  finely  cut,  nobly  placed,  were  indisputably  a  beau- 
tiful feature.  They  were  of  that  rarest  of  all  colors,  a  true  violet 
blue,  and  were  shadowed  by  long  fringed  lashes  of  deepest  brown, 
matching  the  brows  above.  ^The  hair  that  crowned  her  temples 
was  not  so  dark  and  had  probably  in  early  youth  counted  more 
threads  of  gold  than  brown,  though  the  deeper  tint  predominated 
now.  She  wore  it  wrapped  closely  around  her  head  and  plainly 
across  her  forehead,  yet  its  inclination  to  cluster  in  abundant  curls, 
whenever  loosed  for  a  moment,  evinced  its  strength  and  vitality. 


1.74  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIK. 

Above  her  compact  yet  not  lofty  brow,  the  nobly  formed  and 
well  set  head  rose  like  a  dome  with  all  its  fine  developments  of 
veneration,  benevolence,  conscientiousness,  and  ideality  revealed 
at  a  glance — a  head  too  powerful,  perhaps,  but  for  its  graceful 
molding,  to  become  a  woman's  shoulders.  Such  was  the  outline 
of  an  appearance  which,  if  not  beautiful  in  contrast  to  the  ex- 
quisite standard  presented  by  Mrs.  Bouverie,  might  still,  in  the 
eyes  of  some,  have  been  even  more  attractive.  The  children  of 
a  beautiful  mother  are  seldom  vain,  or  even  justly  appreciated,  yet 
there  was,  undeniably,  about  Mrs.  Quintilian's  whole  presence, 
something  of  that  strange  indefinable  charm  that  had  surrounded 
Erastus  Bouverie,  almost  as  with  a  separate  atmosphere,  and 
which  constituted  her  sole  physical  inheritance  from  him.  Let  me 
not,  however,  bestow  on  her  that  word  of  dubious  meaning,  so  truly 
applicable  to  him,  and  which  seems  to  me  to  signify  something 
false  and  serpent-like  in  its  very  derivation.  I  will  not  call  her 
"fascinating."  Truth  was  her  element,  and  whatever  of  power 
she  possessed  did,  I  believe,  purely  and  unconsciously  spring  from 
this  ruling  principle  of  her  life,  blending  itself  as  it  did  with  all  her 
more  brilliant  qualities — courage,  generosity,  tenderness,  imagina- 
tion ;  the  last  indeed  a  mere  "  Will  o'  the  Wisp,"  without  such  a 
foundation.  If  the  expression  might  be  permitted,  I  would  say  that 
there  was  about  her  a  sort  of  emotional  repose,  strangely  interesting. 
Colonel  de  Courcy  had  never  met  with  a  woman  like  this 
before,  scarcely  imagined  that  s^h  existed  at  all,  out  of  the 
pages  of  fiction  (for  it  is  a  strange  thought  to  me,  that  many 
have — that  novelists  have  created  lovelier  women  than  God  ever 
fashioned  I)  He  wished,  for  the  first  time,  in  years,  for  his  lost 
youth,  and  olden  powers  to  please,  that  he  might  lay  them  alJ 
before  her,  who  filled  every  requisition  of  his  being. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BODVERIE.          175 

Yet  this  was  she  his  careless  hand  had  put  away  forever,  when 
he  became  master  of  Taunton  Tower,  and  when  sick,  disap- 
pointed, almost  broken-hearted,  she  might  have  been  the  solace 
of  his  life.  1  do  believe  this  sexagenarian  veteran  came  very 
near  falling  in  love  about  this  tune,  for  the  first  time  in  thirty 
years,  with  his  newly  encountered  kinswoman  ;  but  of  this  in- 
clination, if  indeed,  it  existed,  Mrs.  Quintilian,  fortunately,  was 
for  the  time  unconscious. 

Her  pleasure  in  the  society  of  intelligent  men  was  undis- 
guised. Yet  it  might  be  seen  very  soon  after  forming  her  ac- 
quaintance, that  a  certain  limit  was  assigned  to  such  inter- 
course, that  none  might  ever  pass.  It  was  plainly  her  inten- 
tion to  walk  through  life  alone,  or,  in  such  companionship  only 
as  fate  had  left  to  her  from  the  wreck  of  past  happiness.  Her 
very  dress  indicated,  by  its  fixed  character,  this  involuntary 
resolution.  Strange  paradoxical  words,  which  yet  express  my 
precise  meaning. 

For  she  had  thrown  aside  widows'  weeds,  as  they  are  termed — 
they  were  distasteful  to  her — cumbrous  crapes  and  bombazines 
mean  nothing  after  the  first,  and  are  odious  to  artistic  touch  and 
Bcent ;  but  she  had  assumed  none  the  less  the  habit  of  her  order, 
"  The  hopeless  1" 

Her  dress,  severely  simple,  though  always  of  fine  materials,  waa 
invariably  black  in  color,  and  relieved  only  by  those  falls  of  fine 
white  lace,  which,  like  her  grandmother,  she  wore  at  wrists  and 
throat  habitually. 

An  artist,  who  had,  on  Colonel  de  Courcy's  arrival,  just  com- 
menced a  portrait  of  her  for  Dr.  Quintilian,  suggested  the 
becomingness  and  propriety  of  colors,  as  more  suitable  to  her  age 
and  style  of  face,  and  the  success  of  his  picture. 


176  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUTERIE. 

Dr.  Quintilian,  who  had  an  old  bachelor's  eye  for  the  pictu- 
resque in  dress,  and  had  through  life  been  a  close  observer,  and  a 
nice  critic  of  ladies'  toilet  arid  costume,  united  his  entreaties  to 
those  of  the  artist,  but  ineffectually. 

She  declined,  though  with  evident  reluctance,  any  change  in 
this  respect,  however  temporary,  however  apparently  unimport/- 
ant.  Dr.  Quintilian  seemed  disappointed,  the  artist  amazed, 
and  Colonel  de  Courcy  himself  was  slightly  shocked  at  her 
obstinacy  of  resolution,  in  such  a  trifling  matter. 

He  ventured  to  expostulate  a  little  when  they  were  alone,  and 
a  fitting  opportunity  was  presented. 

"You  American  women,"  he  said,  "perform  a  sort  of  toilet 
'  suttee,'  when  you  become  widows,  and  bury  yourselves  in  weeds 
for  life.  As  well  the  funeral  pyre  of  the  Hindoos  at  once,  as 
such  immolation  of  beauty." 

"  Dress  constitutes  beauty,  then,  in  your  opinion  ?"  Colonel  de 
Courcy. 

"  Not  exactly,"  he  replied,  a  little  puzzled  by  her  manner  ; 
"  but  you  must  acknowledge  it  improves  beauty  amazingly.  An 
unstylish  woman  in  mourning  always  reminds  me  of  a  moth  that 
has  fallen  in  an  inkstand,  and  crept  out  again  terribly  draggled." 

"  Then  think  of  Mrs.  Pipchin,  in  her  crapes  and  bombazines," 
she  rejoined,  merrily,  "  sitting  grimly  opposite  little  Paul  Dombey, 
with  all  of  her  repulsive  accompaniments.  It  is  enough  to  make 
an  imaginative  person  hate  weeds  forever." 

"  Then  why  do  you  persist  in  wearing  them  ?"  was  his  naive 
inquiry. 

"  I  did  not  suspect  you  of  being  so  prejudiced,  I  avow,"  she 
replied,  much  amused.  "  So  you  meant  the  simile  of  the  moth 
for  me,  after  all.  I  thank  you,  humbly  thank  yc  u  !" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  177 

"  You  are  not  unstylish,"  he  murmured,  a  little  sheepishly. 
"  Well,  yes,  I  confess,"  he  added,  lifting  his  head  again,  after  a 
moment's  hesitation,  "  that  I  was  trying  to  approach  the  subject 
of  mourning,  so  as  to  bring  it  home  to  you  by  degrees.  But  my 
skirmishing  was  not  meant  for  you  ;  the  attack  was  yet  to  come. 
I  will  be  honest,  and  say  what  I  think,  if  you  will  permit  me 
without  further  preamble." 

"  Say  on,  but  take  as  your  data  the  truth.  I  do  not  wear 
weeds.  I  simply  wear  a  uniform  common  to  my  class." 

"  You  are  coming  to  Taunton  Tower — you  have  almost  pro- 
mised this,  you  know.  The  whole  country  will  pour  in  to  see  you, 
and  my  vanity,  my  pride  are  concerned.  I  would  have  you  look 
your  best.  I  would  have  my  kinswoman  attired  as  becomes  her 
rank,  her  beauty,"  and  so  saying,  he  bowed  deferentially,  hesitat- 
ing a  moment  afterward. 

"Surely,"  he  continued,  "after  five  years  of  widowhood,  a 
woman  may  resume  her  allegiance  to  fashion  without  an  objec- 
tion, even  on  the  part  of  the  censorious ;  and  sentimentalize,  ac 
people  will  and  do,  costume  has  its  effect,  a  powerful  one,  in 
enhancing  loveliness  and  impressing  the  beholder." 

"  This  is  true  in  most  cases,"  she  replied,  "  but  not  in  mine.  1 
am  better  in  this  garb  than  in  any  other.  It  would  shock  even 
you  to  see  me  renounce  it.  There  is  so  much  in  the  law  of  corres- 
pondences. 

"  When  nature  struck  the  bloom  from  my  cheek,  it  was  time 
for  me  to  have  done  with  artificial  colors.  It  was  a  suggestion 
from  a  higher  power  than  fashion.  This  physical  change  passed 
over  me  suddenly,  at  the  tune  of  my  husband's  death.  I  waa 
rosy  then  ;  I  am  seldom  other  than  pale  now.  Besides,  let  me 
Mk.  you,  do  you  think  it  would  add  at  all  to  the  vital  appearance 


178          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

of  that  dead  ash-tree  in  the  park,  that  you  looked  at  yesterday, 
and  admired  even  for  its  stately  stem,  were  we  to  garland  it  with 
green  leaves  !  It  would  certainly  be  a  bitter  and  senseless 
mockery.  And  so  with  me.  I  scarcely  think  I  shall  ever  bud  again." 
She  laughed  slightly  as  she  said  these  words,  but  her  parted 
lips  grew  pale,  and  she  clasped  her  hands  nervously. 

"  Yet  Dr.  Quintilian  tells  me,  that  in  spite  of  your  determined 
retirement,  you  disclaim  the  charge  of  being  unhappy.  Nay,  he 
adds,  that  he  considers  you  a  model  of  contentment." 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  ungrateful,"  she  rejoined.  "  I  certainly 
should  be  this,  were  I  to  refuse  to  drink  cheerfully  of  any  cup  my 
Creator  has  mixed  for  me." 

"  Yet  you  have  found  it  bitter  V 
"  Never." 

"  You  surprise  me,  Lilian." 

"There  is  no  bitterness  in  true  sorrow.     It  is  the  meekest, 
most  submissive  thing.     It  makes  the  proudest  soul  so  humble, 
the  rudest  nature  so  tender,  that  I  believe  it  is  the  only  means  to 
effect  that  change  of  heart  of  which  the  Bible  tells  us." 
"  You  have  felt  this,  Lilian  ?" 
"  Partially." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  in  gazing  on  you,  that  you  are  the  sole  in- 
stance I  have  met  with,  of  a  person  who  has  come  to  the  true 
knowledge  and  possession  of  '  that  peace  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing.' " 

"  I  cannot  claim  so  exalted  a  condition  of  mind,  if  such  it  be." 
The  last  words  dropped  slowly  from  her  lips. 
"Do   you  not  then  consider  peace  the  most   desirable  of 
all  blessings?"    he  asked,  with   something  of   surprise  in  hia 
manner. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEEIE.  179 

"  No  ;  happiness  is  better,  and  of  this  peace  is  but  one  in- 
gredient." 

"  Can  you  name  the  other  ?" 

"Joy." 

He  never  forgot  the  expression  of  her  face,  as  she  spoke  this 
word.  It  thrilled  him  strangely,  and  he  followed  her  large  blue 
eyes  as  they  looked  out  on  space,  as  if  to  see  what  image  filled 
them  with  such  ineffable  radiance. 

In  another  moment,  she  turned,  with  her  hands  still  tightly 
folded,  and  looked  at  him  again,  but  the  glorious  glance  was  gone. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  murmured  at  last,  as  if  holding  self-com- 
munion more  than  conversation.  "  Peace  is,  when  we  consider  it 
rightly,  only  a  secondary  condition  of  being,  negative  rather  than 
satisfactory ;  but  I  never  thought  of  that  before.  I  am  afraid, 
after  all,  Lilian,"  he  said,  speaking  louder,  and  turning  more 
directly  to  her,  "  that  you  are  unhappy,  though  you  will  not 
acknowledge  it.  Speak  to  me  frankly,  my  time  is  short  with 
you,  and  I  would  know  the  truth,  for  you  interest  me  power- 
fully." And  extending  his  single  hand,  he  grasped  both  of 
hers,  clasped  as  they  were  upon  her  knee,  in  its  long  and  powerful 
fingers. 

"  Banish  the  suspicion,  I  pray  you,  then,  if  indeed  my  welfare 
concerns  you,  and  try  and  think  better  of  me,  Colonel  de  Courcy. 
Reason  about  the  matter,  even  if  yoa  will,"  she  continued,  with- 
drawing her  hands  gently  from  his  grasp,  and  resting  her  brow  on 
one  of  them,  as  she  leaned  back  in  the  deep  chair  she  occupied, 
while  she  fixed  her  earnest  eyes  upon  his  face. 

"  Do  you  think  that  an  unhappy  woman  could  laugh  as  I 
laughed  last  night  at  Pat  McCormick's  more  than  Irish  blunders? 

Could  an  unhappy  woman  enjoy  as  I  do,  the  culture  of  flowers, 
24 


180  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE. 

of  poetry,  of  poultry,  and  patch- work  (a  droll  alliteration,  I  am 
making,  truly  !)  or  love  to  sing  new  songs,  and  read  new  books, 
and  devour  the  papers  for  their  news  and  their  politics,  in  the 
fashion  that  you  witness  in  me  daily  ?  Think  what  a  very 
serious  charge  it  is — a  censure  even — to  be  called  unhappy  I" 

She  paused  a  moment,  smiling  and  shaking  her  head,  then  re- 
suming her  serious  air,  she  continued  : 

"  Yet,  if  you  really  care  to  hear  it,  I  will  tell  you  how  I  feel, 
Colonel  de  Courcy — and  if  the  illustration  I  shall  give  you  be 
homely,  accept  it  at  least  as  heartfelt. 

"  I  feel  like  one  who  has  seen  the  rest  of  her  family  go  forth  in 
the  morning  to  witness  a  beautiful  pageant — and  who  stays  at 
home  to  complete  a  needful  household  task — certain  that  she  will 
follow  them  when  this  is  ended,  and  enjoy  with  them,  after  a 
time,  the  splendor  of  the  sight.  In  the  meantime  it  behooves 
her  to  set  the  house  in  order,  and  to  husband  her  resources,  that 
she  may  not  meet  those  she  loves  with  a  fretful  visage  and 
exhausted  energies,  with  a  warped  soul  even,  unfitted  for  enjoy- 
ment, when  she  goes  forth  at  evening." 

"  This  is  mere  patience  after  all,  Lilian,"  he  remarked  ;  "  mere 
necessity." 

"  I  thought  you  would  say  that  ;  but  I  have  learned  like  one 
who  went  before  me  to  consider  this  as  the  very  highest  quality 
vouchsafed  to  man,  and  so  a  good  foundation,  if  no  more,  for  hap- 
piness." 

She  told  him  then  of  her  grandmother's  often  expressed  opinion 
on  this  subject,  and  her  own  singular  want  of  it,  for  which  she 
tried  in  vain  to  substitute  mere  fortitude — opening  unconsciously 
as  she  proceeded  in  her  account  of  this  beloved  relative,  leaf  after 
leaf  of  her  character,  so  as  to  interest  her  hearer  deeply — and  in 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  181 

this  process  of  description  he  observed  more  than  ever,  a 
peculiarity  which  had  struck  him  from  the  first,  whenever  her 
subjects  elevated  her  from  the  commonplace,  in  the  mode  of 
speech  of  the  narrator. 

There  were  times  when  he  found  it  impossible  to  foresee  the 
termination  of  her  sentences,  and  yet,  when  these  were  completed, 
they  satisfied  him,  even  as  they  surprised,  with  their  fullness  and 
comprehensiveness  of  meaning. 

He  remarked  this  to  her  at  last.  She  accounted  for  a  peculi- 
arity of  which  she  had  been  made  conscious  before  (and  herself 
esteemed  a  defect)  from  the  fact  that  she  had  lived  much  alone — 
or  with  those  who  found  their  chief  companionship  in  books. 
This  habit  of  communion  had  banished  from  their  conversation 
much  that  was  merely  conventional  and  idiomatic. 

She  thought  her  own  devotion  to  poetic  culture  might  have  in- 
creased this  tendency  to  express  her  ideas  fully  and  compactly, 
yet  often  with  an  unpardonable  inversion  of  words. 

There  must,  however,  exist  in  every  temperament,  and  again  in 
every  individual  mind,  a  governing  principle  of  style  as  a  vehicle 
for  thought,  which,  whatever  ^fluences  of  education  may  have 
been  brought  to  bear  upon  it,  will  penetrate  all  disguises;  and 
this,  I  suppose,  was  more  than  aught  else  the  cause  of  this  pecu- 
liarity of  Lilian,  if  such  it  really  were. 

The  stride  of  Achilles  betrayed  him  when  he  wore  a  woman's 
robe,  even  before  his  man's  nature  broke  forth  at  the  sight  of  a 
sword,  and  so  we  feel  the  clutch  of  the  vigorous  hand  through 
all  the  films  of  fiction,  and  see  the  footprints  of  a  conqueror  often 
where  a  weary  pilgrim  seemed  to  pass. 

Again,  under  the  philosopher's  gown  we  detect  sometimes  the 
faltering  step  and  feeble  frame,  and  the  sounding  technicalities! 


182  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

drop  to  dust — which  his  own  words  are  too  weak  to  uphold,  propped 
as  they  are  on  his  slender  staff  of  intellect.  We  want  individuality 
in  style,  if  all  else  fails,  whether  in  preacher  or  lecturer,  or 
essayist.  Let  the  words  he  speaks  be  the  man's  own  words, 
fresh  from  his  own  nature,  full  of  his  own  being,  and  we  can  for- 
give many  shortcomings, 


THE   HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOTTVERIE.  183 


CHAPTER  H. 

As  it  is  chiefly  from  what  transpired  during  Colonel  de  Courcy  a 
brief  visit  to  Bouverie,  that  I  must  gather  the  materials  necessary 
to  conclude  the  abruptly  terminated  narrative  of  Lilian  de  Courcy, 
I  will  record  in  this  place  another  conversation  that  occurred 
between  them  soon  after  the  first,  of  no  especial  interest  it  is  true, 
save  that  it  reaches  back  into  the  otherwise  unnoted  tune  that 
succeeded  the  death  of  Mr.  Bouverie. 

Colonel  de  Courcy  and  Lady  Edith  had  walked  together  to  the 
cemetery  in  the  cedar  grove,  to  visit  the  graves  of  Lilian's  relatives. 
She  had  not  wished  to  accompany  them,  but  seemed  gratified 
when  they  expressed  the  desire  to  pay  this  mournful  tribute  to 
the  dead. 

They  found  the  burying  spot  a  retired  and  deeply  shadowed 
place,  a  favorite  haunt  for  birds,  which  built  undisturbed  among 
the  spreading  yew  and  cedar  branches,  and  gave  its  only  life  to 
that  solemn  solitude.  An  obelisk  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  cir- 
cular-marble railed  inclosnre,  bearing  two  simple  inscriptions  on 
its  opposite  sides  in  memory  of  the  dead  : 

"  Erastus  Bouverie — Infelix. 
Camilla  Bouverie — Fidelis." 

Fronting  the  gate,  it  presented  the  usual  prayer  for  peace  in  the 
simple  accustomed  words  "  Implora  pace  ;"  that  universal  cry 
of  the  weary  human  soul.  On  either  side  were  grassy  graves 
inclosed  in  oval  bands  of  white  marble  finely  sculptured  in  imita 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

tion  of  ivy  leaves,  within  which  slept  that  strangely  fated  pair. 
The  sarcophagus  of  Jasper  Quintilian  stood  apart,  shaped  like  a 
colossal  coffin  covered  with  a  fringed  pall,  the  corners  of  which 
were  lifted  by  angels,  so  as  to  show  a  simple  inscription  beneath. 
His  name,  his  age  (soaring  above  which,  appeared  the  figure  of 
a  dove,  with  outspread  wings,  surrounded  with  rays)  and  the 
comforting  words :  "  He  giveth  his  beloved  sleep."  These 
were  all  that  the  exquisitely  wrought  marble  drapery  disclosed. 

The  angels  were  those  of  life  and  death  ;  one  radiant,  hopeful, 
plumed  for  flight,  the  other  mournful,  yet  beautiful,  with  folded 
wings  and  inverted  torch.  These,  too,  were  the  work  of  a  native 
artist,  though  executed  in  Italy.  A  close  observer  might,  on  the 
base  of  the  sarcophagus,  have  discerned,  engraved  in  small  letters 
the  line  from  Psalms,  which  expressed  the  yearning  grief  of  one  who 
lingered  behind— 

"  My  soul  followeth  hard  after  thee." 

Two  places  for  graves  were  marked  out,  one  on  either  side  of  this 
mausoleum,  bearing  on  the  marble  cross  laid  over  each,  the  severaj 
names  of  "  Paul,"  and  "  Lilian."  So  should  sleep  together 
until  the  day  of  doom  the  members  of  the  mournful  house  of 
Bouverie. 

On  his  return,  Colonel  de  Courcy  had  remarked  to  Mrs.  Quin- 
tilian  his  peculiar  satisfaction  in  the  sequestered  beauty  of  the 
place,  and  the  singularity  of  the  graves. 

"  It  was  my  grandmother's  wish,"  she  replied,  "  to  have  them 
constructed  thus.  She  charged  us  to  keep  both  flowers  and  weeds 
from  their  surface,  and  to  leave  the  grassy  sod  that  covered  them 
openxto  the  rains,  and  snow,  and  sunshine  of  heaven.  She  fancied 
that  she  should  be  oppressed  even  in  death,  by  the  weight  of  the 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBEE.          185 

marble  above  her.  She  wanted  the  winds  to  blow  freely  across 
her  resting-place.  She  included  my  grandfather  in  this  request. 
We  had  been  hesitating  some  time  whether  or  not  to  place  the 
obelisk  above  him." 

"Did  she  survive  him  long  ?" 

"  Between  three  and  four  years  only.  Her  health  declined 
from  the  time  of  his  death.  The  change  which  she  had  looked 
for  as  a  relief,  under  the  peculiar  circumstances  that  surrounded 
them  both,  proved  insupportable  to  her  when  it  came.  The 
olow  that  knocked  her  chains  away  broke  her  heart,  and  her  life 
resolved  itself  into  gloom  and  despondency,  only  alleviated  by  the 
discharge  of  her  religious  duties — from  which  all  vitality  had  long 
departed — and  her  deep  love  for  me  and  mine.  Had  I  been 
blessed  with  children,  a  new  impulse  might  have  filled  her  life,  a 
new  object  replaced  the  old  for  which  no  other  substitution  was 
possible.  Accustomed  as  she  had  been  so  long  to  certain  carea 
and  duties  of  daily  recurring  necessity,  she  could  not  bear  the 
void  their  absence  left.  Her  nature  required  in  its  very  structure 
the  strong  motive  of  responsibility  to  make  life  supportable. 
She  had  shown  this  early  in  her  passionate  love  of  Jasper, 
the  child  of  her  adoption,  and  later  in  her  care  for  me.  We 
failed  her  in  our  maturity  and  self-reliance.  She  needed  some- 
thing to  foster." 

"  Her  death  was  peaceful,  I  presume  ;  not  violent,  not  painful  I 
hope  ?" 

"  A  mere  translation,  as  it  seems  to  me.  She  declined  surely 
and  gradually  for  a  time,  yet  without  much  suffering,  never  con- 
fined to  her  bed,  even  for  a  day  ;  never  unable  to  read  or  sew,  or 
join  us  at  meals  ;  §he  yet  found  exercise  impossible  and  remained 
wholly  within  doors. 


186  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

One  day,  we  had  been  riding  out,  Mr.  Quintilian  and  myself, 
and  leaving  our  horses  carne  to  the  great  window  at  which  we 
saw  her  sitting,  that  which  gave  from  her  chamber  out  upon  the 
lawn.  We  had  found  a  grove  of  crab  apple-trees  in  our  ride, 
and  came  back  loaded  with  those  odorous  blossoms,  which  we 
knew  she  loved  so  well.  It  was  May,  a  soft  balmy  evening,  the 
window  was  thrown  up,  she  was  reclining  in  her  great  chair,  in 
a  perfectly  natural  attitude,  her  book  lying  open  on  her  knees, 
her  eyes  were  closed,  she  was  strangely  pale  ;  I  saw  in  a  moment 
how  it  was.  But  Jasper  would  not  believe  the  truth,  even  when 
my  shrieks  were  rending  the  air.  He  had  no  such  privilege  as 
this  ;  his  lips  were  sealed,  but  he  fell  down  at  her  feet  hi  strong 
agony,  and  grovelled  on  the  ground." 

After  a  moment's  hesitation  she  resumed  her  narrative  to  her 
attentive  hearer. 

"  Dr.  Quintilian  came ;  he  was  greatly  shocked  at  first, 
yet  very  firm  ;  he  had  foreseen  this  long,  and  nerved  himself  to 
bear  it ;  he  knew  that  she  had  incurable  disease  of  the  heart, 
but  he  had  deemed  it  useless  to  embitter  her  life  and  ours  with 
such  a  knowledge.  All  that  variable  color,  all  those,  sudden 
spasms  of  pain,  came  from  this,  all  that  power,  perhaps,  to  bear 
and  to  conceal.  Disease  was  at  the  root  of  all." 

"  I  think  a  death  like  this  might  be  called  the  crown  of  a  good 
life,  as  it  would  seem  the  curse  of  an  evil  one,"  said  Colonel  de 
Courcy.  "She  was  prepared  to  die,  and  she  was  saved  the 
wearing  pangs  of  dissolution." 

"  I,  too,  have  come  slowly  to  this  conviction,  bnt  it  did  not 
seem  to  me  thus  at  first.  Later,  in  the  great  sorrows  from  which 
she  was  spared,  I  have  seen  the  working  of  the  hand  in  her  case, 
'  that  doeth  all  things  well.'" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  187 

She  survived  not  her  friend  and  spiritual  father,  Bishop  Clare, 
ns  she  had  hoped  might  be  the  case,  and  her  grave  was  conse 
crated  by  his  beloved  hand.  She  was  spared,  too,  the  unspeak 
able  anguish  of  seeing  her  Jasper  expire. 

Mrs.  Quintilian's  lips  trembled  slightly  and  grew  pale,  and  she 
eat  mute  for  a  moment,  gazing  out  on  space,  with  sad  and  yearn- 
ing eyes,  as  if  the  past  had  put  aside  the  present.  Great  tears 
were  slowly  gathering  now,  but  she  put  them  back  with  a  strong 
effort,  and  again  turned  to  Colonel  de  Courcy,  as  if  about  to 


He  anticipated  this  intention,  if  such  it  was,  by  asking  her  in 
a  tone  of  deep  interest  a  question  that  had  more  than  once 
occurred  to  him  since  he  came  to  Bouverie.  \;; 

"Have  you  no  record  of  these  events,  Lilian?  The  circum- 
stances that  surrounded  your  grandparents  seem  to  me  so  touch- 
ing, so  romantic  even  as  to  deserve  perpetuation." 

"I  have  written,"  she  replied,  "during  the  past  spring  and 
summer,  assisted  by  my  journal  to  some  degree,  a  narrative  em- 
bodying much  that  I  have  told  you,  much  more  that  no  one  can 
ever  know  until  I  am  dead.  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  per- 
suade or  compel  myself  to  write  a  syllable  of  what  has  occurred 
since  my  grandfather's  death.  The  thread  is  broken  there.  Up 
to  that  time  the  details  are  faithful,  and  yet  I  feel  that  the  de- 
clining days  of  my  grandmother's  existence,  my  husband's  noble 
life  of  art,  lived  chiefly  after  that  period,  and  Bishop  Clare's 
peaceful  and  evangelical  death,  which  occurred  under  this  roof,  in 
my  own  arms,  are  all  worthy  of  a  place  in  this  chronicle.  But 
there  is  time  enough  to  add  all  these,  to  elaborate  them,  even  ;  I 
shall  probably  live  to  be  old  ;  I  feel  this  fatality  in  every  vein, 
and  it  will  be  reserved  for  a  coming  generation  to  read  this 


188          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

record.  In  addition  to  what  I  have  written  from  my  own  expe- 
rience, I  possess  now  a  clue  to  the  fate  of  my  grandparents,  which 
was  wanting  before  ;  my  grandmother's  diary,  faithfully  kept  for 
years,  and  confided  by  her  will  to  Bishop  Clare,  fell  at  his 
demise,  two  years  ago,  into  my  hands,  as  was  intended, 
perhaps,  in  the  end,  by  its  writer.  It  is  my  intention  to  make 
some  extracts  from  this  transcript  of  the  past,  and  so  com- 
plete my  self-appointed  task  as  historian  of  the  '  Household  of 
Bouverie.'  " 

"Do  not  delay  the  undertaking,  my  dear  friend,"  rejoined 
Colonel  de  Courcy,  with  animation.  "  Publish  it  at  once  under 
feigned  names,  and  give  me  an  opportunity  of  gratifying  my  in- 
terest and  curiosity  both  before  I  die." 

"  Indeed  it  is  quite  impossible,"  she  said  ;  "  my  death  only  can 
be  the  signal  for  this  publication,  occur  when  it  will,  for  in  me 
will  perish  the  last  drop  of  the  blood  of  Bouverie  ;  and  the  world, 
which  knows  so  much  already,  is  welcome  to  the  whole  when  the 
race  is  extinct." 

"  Then  may  the  manuscript  lie  in  limbo  for  eighty  years  I" 

"  Thank  you,  the  motive  of  your  wish  is  kind,  its  expression 
very  heartfelt,  but  the  result  scarcely  desirable.  I  have  no  desire 
to  live  to  be  old." 

"  Do  you  know,  my  dear  madam,  that  you  reflect  very  seriously 
on  the  good  taste  of  your  only  surviving  kinsman  when  you  make 
a  remark  like  that  ?" 

" Forgive  me,  I  cannot  think  of  you  as  old;  there  is  so  much 
life,  sympathy,  enthusiasm  about  you.  Now  I  should  be  a  dreary 
old  woman — sentimental,  insupportable  !" 

"  You  did  not  give  me  time  to  explain  myself ;  I  never  sus- 
pected you  for  a  moment  of  reflecting  on  my  age,  only  on  the 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          189 

spirit  of  mj  wish  for  you.  The  fact  is,  that  I  so  appreciate  life 
that  I  should  be  glad  to  be  quite  sure  that  I  should  live  as  long 
as  Dr.  Parr,  if  it  were  God's  will,  and  yet  I  that  say  these 
words  have  had  a  hard  life,  am  somewhat  dyspeptic,  and  almost 
sixty-five." 

"  Was  there  never  a  time  when  you  looked  upon  life  differ- 
ently ?"  she  asked  seriously. 

"  Oh,  yes,  of  course,  several  tunes.  On  the  day  of  the  ampu- 
tation of  my  arm,  after  the  storming  of  a  mud  fort  in  India,  I 
wanted  them  to  let  me  die.  I  was  seven  and  twenty  then.  They 
talked  to  me  of  glory  and  my  youth,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  ; 
but  I  cared  for  nothing  but  my  shattered  arm,  and  its  great 
agony. 

"  Again,  when  Mary  Marsdale  stood  up  to  be  married  to  Lord 
Kildare,  I  tried  to  die — what  folly  all  that  seems  now  1  A  mere 
accident,  not  worth  relating,  saved  me  from  blowing  my  braina 
out ;  perhaps,  after  all,  though,  it  would  amuse  you  to  hear  it. 
My  monkey  had  fired  off  the  pistol  during  my  momentary  absence, 
that  I  designed  for  self-destruction,  and  when  I  put  it  against  my 
temples,  it  was  minus  a  load.  A  flat  proceeding  truly,  but  it 
broke  the  spell.  An  officious  friend  watched  me  for  a  week 
after,  to  keep  me  from  repeating  the  experiment,  but  he  might 
have  saved  himself  the  trouble,  the  impulse  was  gone,  and  my 
love  for  Mary  Marsdale  along  with  it.  The  monkey  cured  every- 
thing." 

"  The  monkey  was  the  tool  of  fate,  you  know,"  she  said,  half 
laughing. 

"Perhaps  so — who  can  judge?  But  after  this,  Lilian,  after 
this,  in  my  mature  age,  when  my  young  half  sister — my  idol — OB 
whom  all  my  pent-up  feelings  had  concentrated  themselves  at 


190  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

last,  threw  off  her  allegiance  to  me,  and  fled  from  her  school  in 
Calcutta,  with  a  man  I  detested — rightly  or  not  God  cnly  knows 
— the  wish  for  death  became  strong  in  my  heart  again.  But  I 
was  older  then,  more  resolute  than  before.  I  would  not  yield  to 
the  temptation.  I  opened  my  window,  and  threw  the  razor  in  the 
tarn  below.  I  was  afraid  of  myself,  and  would  not  have  another, 
and  let  my  beard  grow,  for  I  was  out  of  reach  of  the  tribes  of 
barbers  then,  away  on  the  borders  of  India,  almost  in  the 
jungle. 

"  The  struggle  passed,  as  I  have  said,  but  left  me  warped  and 
embittered  ;  but  I  lived  it  down,  as  we  live  everything  down 
finally,  if  we  do  but  live  long  enough." 

"  Everything  but  remorse." 

She  spoke  like  one  in  a  dream. 

"  Aye  true,  but  I  have  little  experience  of  that,"  he  rejoined, 
"  save  from  one  case  of  social  injustice,  to  which  I  have  pleaded 
guilty  long  ago." 

She  did  not  hear  him  probably,  for  she  went  on  speaking 
slowly,  hesitating  often,  gazing  out  on  space,  as  was  her  wont,  at 
times  of  serious  feelings — a  habit,  if  not  a  heritage. 

"  It  takes  many  shapes,"  she  pursued,  "  this  protean  quality, 
which  almost  always  disavows  its  real  name.  No  man  can  repu- 
diate it  though,  strive  as  he  will ;  it  lies  down  and  rises  with  him, 
sits  at  the  board,  glances  on  him  from  his  books,  makes  discord 
in  sweetest  music,  dashes  the  bead  from  wine,  and  makes  the 
draught  thrice  bitter.  No  man  can  live  this  down — it  is  the  ghost 
of  conscience." 

There  was  something  so  sad,  so  strange  in  this  soliloquy,  for  aa 
such  he  accepted  it,  that  Colonel  de  Courcy  forbore  to  break  the 
epell  by  word  or  sign. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD  OF   BOTTVEBIE. 

Some  dark  association  seemed  at  work  in  the  breast  of  the 
speaker.  She  had  grown  pale,  and  her  features  were  fixed  and  sad. 
At  last  she  rose,  and  making  some  slight  excuse,  passed  from  the 
room  ;  nor  did  she  rejoin  him  until  tne  "well-served  dinner  smoked 
on  the  board. 


J92          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERHC. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MR.  SULLIVAN,  the  young  artist  to  whom  reference  has  been 
made,  completed  a  fine  picture  of  Mrs.  Quintilian,  a  few  days 
before  the  departure  of  Lady  Edith  and  her  uncle. 

Colonel  de  Courcy  complimented  him  on  the  rapidity  of 
his  execution,  and  the  speaking  beauty  and  fidelity  of  the 
portrait. 

Dr.  Quintilian,  too,  was  charmed  with  the  picture,  and  paid 
for  it  munificently. 

As  they  sat  at  breakfast  on  the  last  morning  of  Mr.  Sullivan's 
stay  at  Bouverie,  Colonel  de  Courcy  suggested  to  him  the  ex- 
pediency of  passing  a  year  or  two  in  Italy,  and  regretted  having 
done  this  the  next  moment,  when  he  saw  what  pain  it  occasioned 
him,  to  confess  his  inability  to  pursue  a  plan  so  congenial  to  his 
taste. 

He  seemed  a  proud  and  delicate  minded  man,  to  whom  any 
self-revelation  was  painful  in  the  presence  of  strangers,  yet 
willing  to  sacrifice  even  personal  reluctance  to  the  necessities  of 
truth. 

The  two  elder  gentlemen  rose  after  breakfast,  and  accompanied 
Lady  Edith  and  her  joyous  children  on  their  ramble  through  the 
grounds,  leaving  Mrs.  Quintilian,  as  she  wished  to  be  left,  alone 
with  the  young  artist.  She  took  this  occasion  to  frankly  offer 
him  such  pecuniary  assistance  as  he  might  need  for  the  prosecu- 
tion of  his  profession,  in  her  eyes  the  noblest  of  all,  and  its  foreign 
studies. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  193 

When  he  would  have  thanked  her,  with  the  addition  of  the 
honorable  declaration,  that  he  craved  pecuniary  assistance  from 
no  one,  and  was  content  to  struggle  for  the  golden  meed  of 
fame,  unaided,  she  stopped  him  with  the  truth. 

"  My  husband  was  an  artist,  Mr.  Sullivan,  not  without  some 
claims  to  distinction,  and  with  the  true  feeling  of  brotherhood 
for  his  class.  I  feel  that  I  am  honoring  his  memory  and 
vocation  both,  when  I  set  apart  a  portion  of  the  income  he 
left  hi  my  hands,  to  be  used  for  the  benefit  of  his  brother 
artists.  I  am  sure  such  a  course  would  meet  his  approbation, 
could  he  know  of  it,  and,  whether  you  accept  or  reject  it,  the 
means  will  still  be  so  appropriated.  Now,  I  do  not  think  I 
could  apply  this  fund  better  than  to  place  it  in  your  keeping  for 
two  years." 

With  arguments  like  these,  aided  by  his  own  strong  love  of 
art,  she  smoothed  away  Mr.  Sullivan's  objections,  and  induced 
him  at  last  to  accept  her  bounty. 

"  But  you  will  suffer  me  to  repay  you,"  he  urged  ;  "  when  I 
am  able  !" 

"  Certainly,"  she  answered  ;  "  and  the  Artist  Fund  will  be  the 
better  for  your  success.  When  I  am  dead,  Mr.  Sullivan,  this 
system  will  be  continued  on  a  larger  scale,  through  the  means  of 
trustees — so  you  see  it  is  only  a  hobby  of  mine  after  all,  and  there 
must  be  no  individual  feeling  about  it." 

Her  kindness,  her  natural  manner  completely  broke  down  the 
walls  of  his  reserve,  and  before  they  parted  he  had  laid  his 
aspirations  before  her.  A  little  romance,  too,  had  leaked  out 
despite  his  caution— and  Lilian  learned  that  he  loved  a  beautiful 
girl,  who  would  wait  for  him,  aye,  until  the  last  of  life,  rather  than 
marry  another. 


194:          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

But  ner  relatives  refused  their  consent  to  her  union  with  a 
penniless  artist  so  bitterly,  that  he  felt  nothing  but  fame  and  gold 
would  overcome  their  prejudices,  entertained,  not  so  much 
against  himself  as  his  class,  which  certain  practical  and  money- 
wise  persons  confound  with  the  "  Classe  Bohemienne." 

And  now,  with  a  hearty  wring  of  the  hand,  and  a  choking  in 
the  throat,  that  prevented  parting  compliment  (unmistakable 
sign  of  feeling  ! )  Sullivan  was  gone. 

When  Dr.  Quintilian  came  in  alone,  Lilian  told  him  what  she 
had  done,  and  what  difficulty  she  had  found  in  smoothing  away 
the  sense  of  obligation  from  Mr.  Sullivan's  mind. 

He  listened  with  interest  to  her  recital.  "  The  matter  is  to  be 
put  into  effect  at  once,"  she  said  ;  "  he  has  agreed  to  take  the 
first  packet  for  Leghorn,  and  the  checks  must  go  off  by  the 
evening  train  to  meet  him  in  New  York.  Please,  draw  them  up 
at  once,  and  let  me  sign  them  ;  Oh  !  what  a  privilege  it  is  to  be 
enabled  to  do  good  to  such  a  man  as  this  ;  so  modest,  so  gifted, 
so  deserving,  so  devoted  too,"  she  murmured. 

She  seemed  elated  with  the  benevolent  scheme  that  employed  her 
mind.  Never  had  her  eyes  looked  brighter,  her  lips  more  radiant 
than  at  that  moment.  Dr.  Quintilian  laughed  as  he  rose  from  writ- 
ing the  checks,  and  placed  them  before  her  for  her  signature. 

"  Better  buy  jewels,  Lily,  and  take  the  tour  of  Europe  your- 
self, like  other  women  of  your  age  and  means.  Don't  you  think 
you  could  write  a  few  flash  letters  home  as  well  as  the  rest  of 
them,  and  establish  a  '  deathless  fame,'  instead  of  pampering 
painter  puppies,  and  multiplying  parodies  on  those  grave  humbugs 
the  '  old  masters  ?'  " 

"  You  are  unusually  severe  to-day — or  do  you  only  mean  to  be 
facetious  ?  If  the  last,  pray  abandon  the  delusion." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          195 

"  After  all,  Lily,"  he  went  on  as  he  folded  and  inclosed  the 
checks,  "  if  it  suits  you  to  bestow  your  means  thus,  it  is  all  for  the 
best,  I  suppose  ;  I  certainly  have  no  objections.  It  is  well  enough, 
perhaps,"  he  said,  glancing  humorously  at  her,  "  that  you  should 
extend  a  little  present  aid  to  the  '  meritorious  young  artists/ 
mentioned  so  liberally  in  that  will  of  yours,  which  you  may  change 
yet  before  the  end — who  knows  ? — for  if  they  wait  for  you  to  de- 
part this  life,  they  will  be  old,  decrepit  failures  before  they  receive 
relief,  and  another  crop  of  daubsters  will  have  sprung  up  on  the 
roadside.  Your  contemporaries  have  little  chance  of  profit  through 
you,  Lily,  without  an  accident." 

"  Aye,  without  an  accident  1  Those  were  the  very  words  Bishop 
Clare  used  years  ago,  when  he  prophesied  long  life  for  me,"  she 
rejoined,  musingly  ;  "  I  recall  the  sentence  so  vividly  to-day,  '  you 
will  yet  find  yourself  alone  with  God.' " 

She  was  silent  for  a  tune,  perhaps  living  over  again  that  pain- 
ful scene,  when  uncertainty  and  anguish  shadowed  every  heart  in 
Bouverie. 

After  sealing  and  directing  the  letters,  Dr.  Quiutil  busied  him- 
self with  a  newspaper,  which  he  laid  aside,  however,  with  his  spec- 
tacles, as  she  suddenly  turned  and  placed  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

"  Do  you  not  think  after  all  that  I  am  singularly  protected 
from  accident  ?"  she  asked.  "  You  know  of  several  instances  of 
almost  providential  interference  in  my  behalf.  That  of  the  falling 
of  the  wire  bridge,  just  as  the  train  had  cleared  it,  in  which  so 
many  others  were  included,  the  most  signal.  But  let  me  give 
you  another,  forgotten  untif  now.  It  occurred  when  you  were 
last  in  Baltimore,  two  weeks  ago  to-day,  I  think.  I  had  occasion 
to  go  to  the  depot  in  person  to  deposit  an  important  letter.  As 
I  passed  the  magnificent  elm-tree,  at  the  eastern  gate—'  Mor 


196  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

decai"  as  my  grandfather  called  it,  because  it  obscured  the  vie* 
BO  much  from  the  drawing-room  window — -just  changing  its  color 
then  from  green  to  brown,  and  yellow,  and  crimson,  and  Tyrian 
purple — I  never  saw  such  hues  on  any  tree — I  called  to  Phelim 
to  pause  beneath  it,  that  I  might  feast  my  eyes  on  the  grand 
beauty  of  that  lower  sweeping  limb,  stretched  out  like  a  king's 
sceptre  ;  like  the  wand  of  Ahasuerus  himself.  So  he  checked 
the  horses  and  I  sat  for  a  few  minutes  drinking  in  as  many  colors 
as  a  dying  dolphin  ever  gave  out,  until  my  senses  were  perfectly 
permeated  with  the  glory  of  that  tree.  Now,  don't  smile !  I  do 
not  often  bore  you  with  descriptions,  but  you  must  understand 
how  I  enjoyed  my  '  Mordecai '  on  that  autumn  day,  for  the  last 
time,  you  know.  When  I  returned  fifteen  minutes  later,  after 
accomplishing  the  errand  which  took,  me  out,  half  of  that  huge 
bulk  lay  across  the  road,  the  trunk  and  the  lower  limb  were  all 
that  remained  of  my  glorious  forest  king." 

"  It  was  hollow-hearted  ;  I  have  known  it  long,  but  Mrs. 
Bouverie  loved  it  and  I  could  not  bear  to  cut  it  down — what  an 
escape  I"  Dr.  Quintilian  added  with  emotion,  "  truly  a  signal  in- 
stance of  God's  good  providence." 

"  Had  it  fallen  when  I  paused  beneath  it,"  she  said,  "  carriage, 
horses,  human  beings,  must  all  have  been  crushed  in  one  homoge- 
neous mass,  and  yet  the  wind  was  blowing  as  wildly  then  as  later. 
A  sort  of  herald  of  the  equinox  was  out  that  day,  I  remember  ; 
one  of  those  balmy-joyous  life-giving  winds,  that  prevail  only  at 
those  periods,  and  on  the  sea." 

"  They  had  cleared  the  tree  away,  before  I  returned,"  he  said, 
thoughtfully;  "nobody  told  me  of  this,  and  I  was  glad  it  had 
fallen  at  last,  without  injury  to  anything  ;  I  was  surprised,  though, 
for  it  has  been  in  the  same  condition  for  ten  years  past." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          197 

"I  know  not,"  Lilian  said,  "whether  to  regard  it  as  a  warning 
or  a  sign,  that  I  am  reserved  for  some  good  work,  or  some  great 
suffering — one  or  the  other — some  end  to  be  accomplished  yet. 
I  suppose  after  all,"  she  added  with  a  smile,  seeing  that  Dr. 
Quintilian  seemed  gloomy,  "  that  it  means,  I  am  to  lire  to  be 
very  old — survive  you,  Bianca,  Pat  McCormick  even — and  lea^n 
to  love  life  as  Colonel  de  Courcy  says  he  loves  his  for  its  own 
sake.  This  seems  to  me  the  worst  feature  after  all  about  old  age. 
People  do  so  learn  to  love  those  sibylline  books,  their  years, 
as  they  diminish  in  number.  I  hope  I  shall  never  know  this 
avarice  of  life — and  that  the  poor  young  artists  may  come  to  their 
own  before  my  eye  fails  its  fire,  or  my  hair  grows  grey,  or  my 
right  hand  loses  its  cunning." 

"  Lily,  Lily,  it  is  a  sin  and  a  shame  for  you  to  talk  in  this 
way,  selfish  even  to  entertain  such  thoughts.  You  forget  that 
you  have  my  eyes  to  close  before  you  can  think  of  shutting  yours, 
and  though  I  have  lived  temperately  all  my  life,  gout  is  my  in- 
heritance, and  I  am  beginning  to  feel  its  twinges.  You  know 
those  hands  of  yours  work  miracles  in  pain,  they  are  almost  equal 
to  Father  Conrad's,  and  I  can  ill  spare  them  from  their  ministry. 
After  all,  what  would  my  life  be  without  you,  Lilian  ?  Have 
you  ever  seriously  considered  that  ?  I  shudder  to  think  of  it ! 
A  boat  without  a  rudder  on  a  trackless  sea,  a  loaded  gun  with  no 
fire  to  set  it  off,  a  kite  without  a  string,  or  a  breath  of  wind  to 
blow  it  about ;  anything  but  useful,  or  good,  or  happy,  would  my 
life  be,  without  you,  Lily.  Then  never  express  such  a  wish  again 
if  you  love  or  respect  me."  w 

"  I  never  will,"  she  said,  almost  tearfully.  "  It  was  very  rash 
and  ungarded  in  me  to  talk  so — not  even  heartfelt— I  know  not 
what  impelled  mo,  and  yet,"  she  added,  "  and  yet  I  do  wish  you 


108  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

would  think  sometimes  in  a  different  spirit  of  the  possibility  of 
such  a  separation,  and  not  regard  me  as  invulnerable — immortal, 
almost.  Oh  !  I  do  wish  you  had  lived  more  for  yourself  and 
less  for  others ;  this  was  the  great  mistake  of  your  dear  and 
noble  life.  Promise  me  that  should  I  die  before  you  (there  is  a 
bare  possibility  of  this,  you  know),  that  you  will  try  and  be 
contented  ;  seek  a  substitute — marry,  even.  Oh,  promise  me  !" 
She  spoke  eagerly,  clasping  his  hand  hi  both  of  hers.  He  drew 
it  hastily  away,  and  turning  off,  though  with  evident  agitation, 
resumed  his  spectacles  and  newspaper.  In  a  moment  the  latter 
was  thrown  down,  and  he  was  on  his  feet  again,  walking  the  room 
this  tune  in  the  old  customary  stormy  way. 

"  Child  !  child,"  he  said,  without  stopping  in  his  rapid  pace, 
"  why  seek  to  conjure  up  difficulties  ?  have  we  not  had  enough  of 
these  to  contend  with  ?  All  seems  smooth  now,  and  likely  to  re- 
main so  ;  why  imagine  improbabilities,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  to 
harass,  to  ruffle  our  peace  ?" 

*'  I  can  scarcely  account  for  the  mood  myself,"  she  said,  "  the 
whole  matter  seemed  to  press  on  me  very  suddenly  and  urgently, 
to-day,  almost  beyond  my  own  consent.  It  is  not  my  wish — it  is 
not  my  habit  (you  know  it  well),  to  present  supposititious  troubles 
for  your  consideration  nor  even  for  my  own." 

"  I  am  taking  the  thing  too  seriously,  perhaps,  more  seriously 
than  you  meant  it,  I  see  ;  but  that  little  incident  of  your  narrow 
escape,  and  your  own  moralizing  deduced  therefrom,  unnerved  me 
somewhat,  I  confess.  There,  no  more  of  it — '  Richard's  himself 
again,'  as  Shakspeare  never  said.  ^Ls  to  that  marriage  sug- 
gestion of  yours,  Lily,"  he  added,  looking  at  her  with  a  half 
comic  expression,  over  his  spectacles,  aiid  stopping  short,  with  bia 
hands  plunged  into  his  pockets,  and  his  head  thrown  a  little  to  one 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEEE.          199 

side — "Don't  you  know,  child,  that  there  comes  a  time  in  the  life 
of  every  rational  man  when  such  a  step  would  be  as  impossible 
to  him  as  suicide  ?  A  houri  from  Paradise  would  have  no  more 
power  to  tempt  me  to  such  a  measure  now  than  dame  McCormick 
herself,  could  she  rise  in  living  presence  again.  A  man  of  my 
temperament  must  be  accustomed  to  a  companion  for  half  of  his 
life  before  marriage  could  be  anything  else  than  a  cold  '  douche,' 
a  shock  to  his  nerves,  if  not  his  constitution,  too  painful  to  en- 
counter. There  never  was  a  time  when  I  could  have  married  a 
strange  woman — there  never  was  but  one  that  I  should  have  been 
proud  to  call  my  wife.  I  never  said  this  before  to  any  one,  Lily, 
least  of  all  to  her — never  shall  again — but  of  course  that  could 
never  have  been,  in  any  case,  even  had  there  been  no  obstacles,  no 
1  Luther '  in  the  way.  It  was  not  to  be  thought  of,"  and  clapping 
his  hat  hastily  on  his  head,  Dr.  Quintilian  left  the  room. 

A  moment  later,  Lady  Edith  came  in  with  the  boys  loaded  with 
haws  and  acorns,  autumn  leaves,  and  a  basketful  of  pawpaws, 
which  they  had  gathered,  assisted  by  Danvers,  and  which  they 
persisted  in  calling  "  wild  bananas." 

Lilian  could  but  admire  the  animated  and  beautiful  group,  the 
mother,  so  young  looking,  joyous,  healthful ;  the  children,  with 
their  blonde  beauty,  truly  handsome  specimens  of  the  Saxon  type. 
The  elder  boy  was  called  for  his  uncle  Everard,  and  resembled 
him  strikingly  ;  the  second  bore  the  paternal  name  ;  a  younger 
still,  left  with  his  father  and  sister  in  Washington,  in  the  hands 
of  a  careful  governess  and  nurse,  was  named  Reginald,  after 
Colonel  de  Courcy,  and  seemtd  to  be  the  darling  of  all. 

Lady  Florence  herself  did  not  appear  more  than  two  and  twenty, 
and  yet  she  was  scarcely  a  twelvemonth  younger  than  Lilian, 
who  looked  every  day  of  her  age — every  day  of  thirty,  if  not 


200  THE    HOUSEHOLD  OF   BOUVEKIE. 

more.  A  face  never  acquires  the  depth,  expression,  and  charao 
tei  that  belonged  to  hers  until  the  impulsive  season  of  youth  is 
past. 

When  the  boys  had  gone  out  again  with  their  treasures,  and 
the  ladies  were  alone,  seated  quietly  for  the  morning  at  their 
respective  embroidery,  Lady  Edith  said  : 

"  Do  you  know  to  what  you  are  indebted  for  the  presence  of 
these  very  troublesome  boys  of  mine,  for  it  was  my  wish  to  leave 
them  with  Lord  Sinclair,  and  break  away  from  all  responsi- 
bility for  a  few  days,  instead  of  carrying  it  along?  Listen, 
then.  Solely  and  entirely  to  my  uncle's  dread  of  facing  you 
unsupported." 

Lilian  smiled,  half  surprised  ;  yet  scarcely  understanding  Edith, 
perhaps,  she  said  nothing. 

"  They  will  be  passports  for  us,  you  know,"  he  said,  in  his  par- 
tial way.  "  No  heart  could  resist  them,  and  after  all,  we  need 
such  letters  of  introduction  as  their  faces  present,  to  wipe  out  old 
scores." 

"  I  am  almost  glad  you  could  not  defend  me,  Edith,  as  then* 
visit  has  been  the  result.  They  are  such  fine,  merry  fellows." 

"  I  did  defend  you  indeed  after  this  fashion :  '  Her  letters, 
uncle,'  I  urged,  'speak  so  sincerely  of  a  perfect  reconciliation, 
we  must  not  doubt  her  earnestness.' " 

"  '  Her  face,  niece  !'  was  his  reply.  'It  is  that  from  which  I 
can  gather  my  conviction  on  this  point,  far  more  than  from  her 
letters,  and  I  have  the  most  haunting  wish  to  see  it  that  ever  pos- 
Bessed  sexagenarian  bachelor  !  One  might  call  it  curiosity,  if  that 
were  not  a  trait  entirely  confined  to  women.'  " 

Lady  Edith  detailed  this  conversation  to  Lilian,  with  that 
peculiar  naivet6  that  made  the  charm  of  her  manner,  confessing 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  201 

that  she,  too,  had  her  share  of  curiosity,  though  blended  with 
deep  interest,  in  coming  to  Bouverie. 

"  And  does  your  uncle  believe  in  my  letters,  now  that  he  has 
seen  my  face  ?"  asked  Lilian,  half  reproachfully. 

"  I  am  almost  afraid  he  believes  a  little  too  implicitly  in  both 
for  his  own  peace  or  my  comfort,"  said  Lady  Edith,  laughing. 
"  I  shall  hear  the  changes  rung  upon  your  name  and  perfections, 
when  we  go  home,  until  I  shall  be  ever  so  jealous.  Nay,  if  he 
was  twenty  years  younger,  and  I  his  dictator,  he  should  not  stay 
at  Bouverie  another  hour." 

"  He  is  a  noble  gentleman,"  rejoined  Lilian,  seriously,  "  and  I 
thank  him  for  his  confidence  ;  but  were  he  young  instead  of  old, 
I  scarcely  think  we  should  like  each  other  half  so  well." 

There  was  something  occasionally  in  Lilian's  manner  a  little 
chilling  to  Edith.  She  felt  it  now.  Was  there,  after  all,  lying 
deep  in  her  nature,  that  same  obstruction  to  intimate  companion- 
ship, that  she  herself  had  likened  in  her  grandmother's  case  to  a 
"stone  in  a  flower  bed."  Or,  was  it  that,  unaccustomed  to 
women  and  "their  ways,"  Lilian  unconsciously  preserved  with 
them  the  same  reticence  of  manner  she  had  learned  from  the 
society  of  men  ?  When  she  threw  her  arms  around  a  friend,  when 
she  kissed  her  cheek,  or  clasped  her  hand  warmly,  she  was  moved 
by  no  common  feeling.  These  caresses,  with  her  so  rarely  con- 
ferred, meant  something.  They  were  not  empty  and  enervating 
forms,  as  they  usually  are  with  women  ;  and  those  who  received 
such  indications  of  friendship  from  Mrs.  Quintilian,  wondered 
what  stirred  and  impressed  them  so,  in  the  reception,  and  even 
in  the  remembrance  of  her  salutations. 

Yet  she  was  not  cold  in  her  manner,  far  from  it.     She  merely 
held  things  sacred  that  others  looked  upon  as  common  forms. 


202  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKEE. 

The  cup  from  which  she  drank  was  not  for  every  lip  ;  nor  the 
Btream  of  feeling  poured  freely  for  every  wayfarer. 

When  she  tendered  these,  it  was  with  her  whole  soul,  and  with 
a  lavish  generosity  beyond  all  praise,  all  suspicion. 


203 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHILE  they  were  still  sitting  at  work,  Colonel  de  Courcy  came 
in,  holding  in  his  hands  an  open  book,  he  had  found  thrust  away 
hi  the  corner  of  a  bookcase. 

"  I  like  some  of  these  poems  very  much  indeed,  Lilian,"  he 
said.  "  I  had  no  idea,  until  I  happened  to  ask  Dr.  Quintiiian  the 
name  of  the  author,  that  you,  too,  were  an  artist." 

"  A  very  imperfect  one  certainly,"  she  replied.  "And  at  the 
time  those  poems  were  written,  I  was  far  more  impulsive  than 
artistic.  I  think  I  could  write  better  now." 

"  Give  me  back,  give  me  back  the  wild  freshness  of  morning," 
he  murmured,  as  he  turned  the  pages  over,  still  standing  before 
her. 

"  The  criticism  is  perfect,  and  so  delicate  that  I  accept  it 
kindly,  hi  my  declining  age,"  she  observed,  smiling. 

"  I  like  the  poetry  of  the  young  best,  I  acknowledge,"  he  said, 
fixing  his  eyes  mildly  on  her  face  ;  "  perhaps  because  I  have  so 
little  critical  culture,  that  I  am  not  equal  to  more  finished  pro- 
ductions. I  have  never  pursued  poetry  as  a  study,  only  as  a 
pastime." 

"  You  are  involving  yourself  more  and  more  deeply  by  every 
explanation,  Colonel  de  Courcy.  Your  latest  expressed  reason 
for  liking  my  poems,  is  anything  but  flattering.  You  think  with 
Tennyson,  that  they  are  '  easy  things  to  understand.' " 

"  Certainly  that  is  their  chiefest  charm  to  me,"  he  said,  inno- 


204  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BODVEKIE. 

"  You  arc  perfectly  incorrigible." 

"  Why,  uncle,"  broke  iu  Lady  Edith,  quite  red  and  flurried — 
she  was  something  of  a  literalist  in  her  way,  like  all  very  naive 
people — "  I  never  knew  you  to  exhibit  so  little  tact  before." 

Then  there  was  a  merry  chime  of  laughter,  in  which  Lady  Edith 
joined  at  last,  with  a  little  bridling  of  the  head,  and  a  profession 
that  she  "  only  wanted  to  set  things  right."  She  could  "  see  no- 
thing so  diverting,"  and  matters  ended  in  Colonel  de  Courcy's 
insisting  strenuously  on  reading  aloud  one  poem,  that  had  quite 
captivated  his  fancy,  "  suggested,"  the  text  declares,  he  went  on 
to  say,  "  by  Mr.  Bryant's  beautiful  poem — '  The  Future  Life.'  " 

"  And  who  is  Mr.  Bryant  ?"  he  asked,  gravely,  stopping  and 
putting  down  his  eye-glass. 

"  Oh,  uncle,  are  you  in  earnest  ?" 

"  Not  know  our  American  Wordsworth  1" 

"  Why,  Colonel  de  Courcy,  what  will  Lilian  think  1" 

The  two  last  exclamatory  phrases,  uttered  at  the  same  moment 
by  the  astonished  ladies,  failed  to  produce  any  distinct  impression 
on  the  ear  of  the  offender,  and  he  asked  in  piteous  accents — 

"  What  have  I  done  ?" 

"  Done,  uncle  !"  reproachfully.  "  The  question  is  unanswer- 
able," quoth  Lilian,  "  in  any  way  but  one  ;"  and  going  in  quest 
of  a  book,  she  soon  returned  with  it,  and  insisted  on  reading  first, 
the  suggesting  cause,  if  not  the  model  of  her  own  poem.  When 
Bhe  had  done  reading  the  exquisite  "  Future  Life,"  she  said  : 

"  Now,  Colonel  de  Courcy,  I  have  made  you  acquainted  with 
one  of  our  laureates,  our  chief  (we  have  two  or  three  more). 
Do  you  think  you  will  ever  forget  our  patriarch  ?" 

Some  spring  of  feeling  had  been  touched  in  his  emotional 
nature,  probably  by  the  poem.  He  made  no  remark  at  first, 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  205 

fchen  observed  merely  :  "  That  is  true  poetry."  But  hi  a  tone  that 
proved  how  heartfelt  was  the  remark. 

"  I  cannot  read  as  well  as  you  have  done,"  he  said  ;  "  nor  do 
I  know  that  your  poetry  is  half  so  good  ;  but  it  pleases  me 
Now,  Edith,  listen  to  '  The  Spirit  Meeting,'  '  modelled,'  Lilian 
says,  on  Mr.  Bryant's  '  Future  Life,'  '  suggested '  by  it,  says  the 
text." 

I  would  not  insert  this  poem  here  ;  but  that  it  seems  to  have 
had  strange  relevancy  with  circumstances  close  at  hand. 

THE  SPIRIT  MEETING. 

Thou  did'st  not  know  me  in  that  lesser  sphere, 

Where  erst  the  cycle  of  our  lives  was  cast ; 
Where,  by  thy  side  I  walked  through  many  a  year, 

Each  sadder,  colder,  darker,  than  the  last, 
Though  on  thy  lips,  mine  was  a  frequent  name ; 

Though  in  thy  gaze,  I  sat,  by  board  and  hearth  j 
Though  all  our  joys  and  sorrows  seemed  the  same. 

Thou  did'st  not  know  me  in  the  land  of  earth. 

How  could'st  thou  deem  that  'neath  my  dark,  pale  brow  f 

Shrined  in  a  form  of  slight  and  common  mold, 
There  dwelt  an  essence,  such  as  meets  thee  now — 

Whose  glance  of  power  thou  shrinkest  to  behold  !— 
How  scan  the  folded  plumes  of  Paradise 

Within  the  clay  that  veiled  a  higher  lot  ? 
No  !  thine  were  bounded — thine  were  mortal  eye ; 

I  do  not  blame  thee— that  they  knew  me  not. 

Yet,  would  I  yield  the  glory  and  the  grace, 

That  breathe  about  me  their  ineffable  light, 
To  see  thee  stand  before  thy  Maker's  face, 

Freed  from  the  stain — and  ransomed  from  the  blight  -  - 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE, 

I  would  become,  again,  the  child  of  dust, 

To  know  thee  worthy  of  the  crown  of  heaven, 
And  bow  once  more  beneath  thy  yoke  unjust, 

To  hear  our  Father  say — "  He  is  forgiven!" 

It  may  not  be,  no  prayer,  no  deed  of  mine, 

Have  yet  availed  to  win  that  boon  sublime : 
Pass  on!  await  the  meed,  that  love  divine 

May  yet  reserve  for  thee  in  unborn  time  ; 
With  patient  progress,  and  with  quenchless  faith, 

Repair  the  error  of  thy  past  estate  ; 
And  tread  with  fearless  feet  the  thorny  path 

That  leads  from  death  to  heaven's  celestial  gate. 

"  I  had  almost  forgotten  that,"  said  Mrs.  Quintilian,  when 
Colonel  de  Courcy  had  finished  his  reading.  "  It  has  been  so 
long  since  I  looked  through  the  volume  ;  but  I  think  it  contains 
some  prettier  things,  perhaps.  You  will  read  them  at  your 
leisure,  I  hope,  since  you  like  this  ?" 

"  You  will  give  me  this  copy,  then,  to  take  away  with  me  !" 

"  Not  this,  another,  quite  new;  there  are  a  dozen  such  upstairs  in 
the  library."  She  had  seen  Jasper's  name  in  the  flyleaf,  written  in 
his  own  hand.  She  could  not  part  with  that.  It  was  sacred  now. 

"  Let  me  read  one  more  before  I  stop." 

"  Oh,  no  !  Do  not  reproach  me  any  further  to-day  with  the 
sins  of  my  youth." 

_  And  she  extended  her  hand  for  the  book,  which  he  relinquished 
reluctantly. 

"  I  will  not  let  you  forget  your  promise,"  he  said  ;  "  in  the 
meanwhile,  can  you  recall  no  other  you  have  made  me  since  1 
came  to  Bouverie  ?" 

"  I  understand  you.7'     She  turned  quite  pale,  even  about  the 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBDS.          207 

lips.  "  You  leave  to-morrow,  would  you  like  to  see  the  picture 
now  ?  You  too,  Lady  Edith  ?" 

The  person  last  addressed  did  not  hear  the  proposition  ;  the 
merry  boys  were  calling  to  their  mother,  and  she  was  preparing 
to  go  to  them,  with  no  ear  for  any  one  else. 

In  another  moment  she  had  left  the  room. 

"  It  is  better  so,  perhaps,"  thought  Lilian;  "  none  but  the  ear- 
nest eyes  of  age  and  experience  should  see  that  picture,  which  it 
costs  me  so  dear  to  unveil." 

She  had  never  recovered,  probably,  from  the  early  emotions  of 
awe  and  mystery  with  which  she  had  first  invested  it,  and  since 
her  grandfather's  death  other  feelings  had  come  to  strengthen  these. 

Yet  she  felt  no  such  misgivings  with  regard  to  the  other  por- 
traits that  surrounded  the  drawing-room.  Those  of  her  grand- 
mother, of  Bishop  Clare,  of  Jasper's  self,  inspired  her  with  tender 
regret  alone.  What  was  there  in  that  dark  picture  that  stirred 
her  soul  to  agony  and  an  unreasonable  awe,  she  vainly  strove  to 
conquer  ? 

She  led  the  way  to  the  drawing-room,  little  used  except  in  the 
evenings.  She  threw  open  one  of  the  windows,  and  let  in  a  flood 
from  the  beautiful  autumnal  sunshine  without,  and  standing  before 
the  fireless  chimney,  prepared  to  unveil  the  picture. 

A  cord  and  tassel  had  been  so  adjusted  with  slender  pulleys 
that  one  standing  on  the  floor  could  draw  up  the  curtain  now, 
with  a  slight  exertion.  Thus  aided,  Lilian  raised  the  cloth  gradu- 
ally from  the  surface,  until  the  whole  painting  was  revealed. 

Colonel  de  Courcy's  eyes  were  riveted  on  the  superb  presence 
before  him  for  an  instant,  as  if  in  astonishment  ;  then  breaking 
forth  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  with  flashing  eye  and 
pointing  finger,  he  exclaimed — 


208  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

"  The  same  ;  I  cannot  be  mistaken  !  I  saw  him  more  than 
thirty  years  ago  at  the  Court  of  Nicholas.  He  was  standing  in 
the  imperial  group  when  I  was  presented,  the  stateliest  man  at 
court  except  the  Czar.  He  was  the  remarkable  personage — '  the 
American  engineer '  to  whom  the  emperor  gave  his  famous 
'  gnome  eye '  jewel  from  his  own  hand.  It  was  talked  of  through 
all  St.  Petersburg.  I  would  know  that  peculiar  face  among  a 
thousand — am  I  not  right,  madam  ?" 

The  curtain  fell ;  something  in  the  vehement  manner  of  Colonel 
de  Courcy  had  struck  old  chords  too  forcibly.  Lilian  leaned 
against  the  mantel-piece,  covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  weep- 
ing convulsively.  The  storm  passed  in  a  moment. 

It  was  not  often — oh  !  not  often  now,  that  her  nature  was 
swept  to  such  a  gust  of  tears.  It  was  a  part  of  the  old  being, 
and  it  served  to  freshen  the  arid  monotony  of  the  new. 

"  My  child  I  have  I  given  you  pain  ?"  He  laid  his  hand  upon 
her  shoulder  ;  he  spoke  in  tender  accents — the  strong,  the  gentle 
man,  the  Christian  soldier. 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  It  was  only  a  passing  emotion,  uncontrollable 
though  for  the  moment.  It  is  well  so  ;  it  has  relieved  me.  But 
it  seems  so  strange  that  you  should  have  seen  him,  my  broken — 
broken  idol  !"  She  murmured  the  last  words. 

Again  a  pause. 

"  It  is  exquisitely  painful  to  me  to  unveil  this  picture — you  did 
not  know  that,  of  course.  How  could  you  suspect  such  an  un- 
reasonable thing  of  me  ?  Such  a  weakness  !  Yet  look  at  it 
when  you  will,  henceforth  alone." 

He  took  her  hand  and  led  her  to  the  open  window,  from  which 
the  eye  embraced  a  sunny  stretch  of  lawn  and  flower  borders,  still 
gay  with  lingering  dahlias,  chrysanthemums,  and  monthly  bloom- 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  209 

ing  roses  (the  last,  ever  latest  to  desert  their  summer  allegiance), 
encircled  and  protected,  as  by  strong  arms  of  love,  by  the  distant 
changing  woods.  For  some  tune  they  stood  hi  silence,  gazing  out 
on  the  s<jene  before  them — a  silence  only  broken  by  the  monotonous 
chirping  of  a  Cardinal  bird  in  the  Norway  fir  before  the  portico. 

He  turned  to  her  abruptly  at  last — "This  place  is  too  lonely 
for  you,"  he  said.  "  It  will  kill  you — nay,  it  is  killing  you 
already  by  inches.  Leave  it.  Put  the  past  behind  you — carve 
out  a  new  destiny ;  you  may  still  be  happy.  '  Let  the  dead  bury 
their  dead,'  and  come  away." 

"  This  cannot  be,  she  answered,  my  fate  is  boond  up  with 
Bouverie.  Think  of  Dr.  Quintilian  !  he  would  be  permanently 
contented  nowhere  else." 

"  Contentment  in  such  a  life,  stagnation  rather  I  Did  you  not 
say  yourself  that  peace  was  but  one  ingredient  of  happiness  ? 
There  is  nothing  here  to  fill  the  requisitions  of  such  an  organiza- 
tion as  yours.  The  most  finely  strung,  the  most  comprehensive 
that  I  have  ever  beheld  in  woman." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you,  thank  you,  your  praises  overpower  me,  they 
are  partial,  excessive.  I  do  not  deserve  one  tithe" 

"  Answer  me  frankly,  then,  Lilian  ;  I  leave  it  to  your  own  con- 
science," he  interrupted,  "  to  settle  this  matter  definitely:  Are  all 
the  requirements  of  your  being  filled  in  this  solitude  ?" 

"  Not  all — not  altogether,  rather  ;  but  the  wise  man  whose 
house  is  too  large  for  his  own  use,  manages  easily  to  contract  it,  by 
closing  a  few  doors,  and  abandoning  a  few  rooms.  It  is  thus  that 
I  have  done.  There  are  desolate  chambers  in  my  heart  I  never 
enter  now,  shall  never  abide  in  again  until  the  end  of  all.  As  to 
solitude,  which,  to  most  persons,  seems  such  an  insupportable 
evil,  do  not  think  me  paradoxical  when  I  tell  you  I  have  found  it 


210  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

my  closest,  most  congenial  companion  I  am  accustomed  to  it, 
and  I  never  feel  so  true  to  myself,  so  natural  as  when  I  am  alone. 
Yet  I  enjoy  social  society  very  keenly  ;  but  we  must  not  drink 
champagne  every  day,  you  know."  , 

Her  eye  sparkled,  she  smiled,  the  scarlet  returned  to  her  lip. 
It  was  one  of  those  moments  when  beauty  seemed  her  birthright. 
Her  companion  gazed  at  her  long  and  admiringly.  She  had 
given  a  new  impulse  to  his  life,  this  woman,  whose  existence  was 
stagnation  in  his  opinion. 

"  Point  me,  again,"  he  said,  "  that  slender  magnolia-tree,  that 
yesterday  you  told  me  you  meant  to  remove  from  beneath  its 
deep  elm  shadows,  so  that  sunshine  might  deepen  its  green,  and 
foster  its  long  delayed  time  of  blossoming." 

The  tree  was  not  far  distant  ;  she  showed  it  to  him  readily. 

"  Are  you  not  afraid  to  transplant  it,"  he  said,  "  when  it  has 
grown  so  long  in  the  shade  ?" 

"  Not  at  all,  care  and  attention  will  compass  almost  any  floral 
change." 

He  turned  to  her  suddenly,  "  Then  let  me  be  your  gardener  for 
once,"  he  said.  "  Go  with  me,  Lilian,  away  from  Bouverie,  back  to 
Taunton  Tower,  make  it  your  home,  your  heritage,  my  fair  mag- 
nolia-tree ;"  and  again  he  clasped  her  hand  with  his  trembling 
fingers  impetuously. 

She,  too,  trembled.  His  words  meant  little,  but  his  manner  was 
unmistakable.  This  revelation  was  unspeakably  painful  to  her. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said,  in  low  accents,  "  and  it  may  be 
that  at  no  very  distant  day  I  may  stand  beneath  your  roof-tree 
in  the  old  hall  again,  as  your  guest.  But  Bouverie  is  my  home, 
must  ever  be,  while  life  is  mine  ;  yet  do  not  think  me  ungrateful, 
Colonel  de  Courcy  Believe  me,  should  we  meet  no  more  after 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  211 

to-day,  I  shall  never  forget  you,  nor  cease  to  honor  you,  my 
kinsman." 

She  stooped,  pressed  her  lips  lightly  upon  his  hand,  then  with- 
drawing her  own  from  his  grasp,  was  gone  before  he  could  speak 
to  her,  nor  did  they  again  meet  save  in  the  presence 


213  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEEIE. 


CHAPTER  V. 

DR.  QUINTILIAN  had  built  a  chapel  on  the  confines  of  the 
domain  of  Bouverie,  and  near  it  a  small  parsonage.  The  neigh- 
bors, many  of  them  persons  of  culture  and  influence,  had  con- 
tributed to  raise  a  salary  for  the  officiating  clergyman,  and 
thronged  the  little  church  on  every  Sabbath-day. 

The  building  was  simple,  remarkable  only  for  its  exquisite  pro- 
portions, so  that  it  filled  the  eye,  as  a  more  elaborate  edifice,  less 
harmoniously  constructed,  could  never  have  done. 

To  build  this  chapel  had  been  a  favorite  day-dream  of  Dr.  Quin- 
tilian's  for  many  years  ;  but,  it  was  not  until  after  the  death  of 
Erastus  Bouverie  (when  his  long-diverted  income  flowed  into 
usual,  channels)  that  he  had  felt  at  liberty  to  withdraw  any 
portion  of  his  own  slender  means  from  the  support  of  the  house- 
hold of  which  he  formed  a  member. 

Although  a  Presbyterian,  and  as  such  not  strictly  entitled, 
perhaps,  to  bestow  the  name  of  chapel  on  the  house  he  had 
erected  for  the  worship  of  God,  he  was  so  liberal  in  his  senti- 
ments, that  the  pulpit  was  open  to  all  denominations,  and  thus  the 
preaching  at  Bouverie  was  varied  and  interesting  as  that  of  no 
constantly  officiating  minister  could  possibly  be. 

'  It  rested  Mr.  Yernon,"  Dr.  Quintilian  thought,  "  for  others 
to  take  the  pulpit  in  turns  with  him — and  it  rested  other  congre- 
gations for  their  preachers  to  leave  them  occasionally — and  it  rested 
those  preachers  to  get  rid  of  stereotyped  faces  now  and  then,  and 
try  their  energies  on  fresh  material."  So  his  was,  according  to 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          213 

him,  a  system  of  rotation  that  afforded  universal  "rest  and 
refreshment  of  spirit  !"  Who  shall  say  that  he  was  not  right  in 
this  opinion  ?  What  single  man  can  afford  new  weekly  nourish- 
ment from  his  own  individual  resources  for  a  thousand  minds  ? 

"  Besides,  Vernon  himself  improves,"  Dr.  Quintil  would  add  ; 
"  from  hearing  all  this  pulpit  eloquence,  he  is  unconsciously  re- 
ceiving his  second  clerical  education.  His  prayers  have  taken 
fresh  wings  of  late — they  were  heavy  enough  when  he  first  came 
among  us,  quite  clogged  with  repetition;  and  as  to  his  sermons, 
they  are  twice  as  short  and  substantial  and  thorough-going  as 
they  used  to  be,  and  ten  times  more  charitable.  He  begins  to 
believe  that  brimstone  is  not  '  your  only  wear '  in  the  world  to 
come,  and  we  hear  less  of  the  Elect — that  angelic  aristocracy  !" 

Colonel  de  Courcy  and  Lady  Edith  had  accompanied  their 
hosts  on  each  of  the  two  Sundays  that  found  them  inmates  of 
Bouverie,  to  the  Oak  Wood  Chapel. 

It  happened  that  on  both  occasions  eloquent  preachers  had 
filled  the  pulpit,  invited  perhaps  especially  by  Dr.  Quintilian  from 
the  nearest  city,  and  sharing  his  hospitality,  each  time,  for  a  day 
and  night,  or  two. 

They  were  men  of  different  denominations  and  opposite  cha- 
racteristics, yet  alike  courteous  and  liberal,  in  the  expression  and 
reception  of  opinion.  One  was  a  fiery  speaker,  the  other  a  close 
and  cogent  reasoner,  and  as  was  natural  to  their  temperaments, 
Dr.  Quintil,  the  man  of  reason,  preferred  the  first,  Colonel  de 
Courcy,  the  man  of  impulse,  preferred  the  latter. 

Lilian  delighted  in  pulpit  eloquence,  from  which  she  had  been 
shut  out  during  all  the  years  of  her  seclusion  at  Bouverie,  until 
the  chapel  was  built.  She  did  not  criticise  nor  discriminate  greatly, 
not  sufficiently  perhaps  ;  but  she  surrendered  her  whole  being  to 


214  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

tlie  preacher,  as  Christ's  living  representative,  "doing,"  she 
thought,  "a  grand  and  mysterious  work,  to  the  best  of  his 
ability,"  whether  with  strength  or  weakness  she  little  cared  to 
investigate.  It  was  not  her  business  to  do  this,  she  thought ;  cer- 
tainly not  her  pleasure.  She  went  into  the  house  of  God  with 
the  meekness  of  a  little  child  about  to  hear  great  lessons,  partly 
incomprehensible,  not  the  less  thrillingly  impressive  on  that 
account.  None  I  think  feel  more  entirely  the  holiness  of  the 
sanctuary  than  those  long  shut  away  from  it  by  circumstances, 
and  who  learn  thus  to  regard  then*  presence  in  a  church  a  privi- 
lege, not  a  mere  matter  of  course.  Imaginative  people  are,  I 
believe,  above  all,  most  thrilled  by  the  presence  of  the  Invisible  in 
his  appointed  temple. 

Such  minds  go  far  beyond  anything  that  a  preacher  feels 
privileged  to  speak,  and  take  thought  at  its  sources  intuitively 
and  sympathetically.  It  matters  less  for  them,  therefore,  than  for 
others  what  words  are  employed,  what  images  displayed.  They 
are  in  the  very  presence  of  the  holy  of  holies. 

It  was  not  thus  with  Lady  Edith.  Less  imaginative,  less  culti- 
vated than  Lilian,  she  was  proportionably  more  exacting  of  these 
qualities  in  her  minister,  nor  <iid  she  fail  to  express  her  admiration 
of,  and  astonishment  at  the- gifts  of  those  preachers  she  had  heard 
at  Bouverie. 

Colonel  de  Courcy,  too,  was  earnest  in  his  praises,  and  Dr. 
Quintilian  highly  gratified  at  these  tributes  from  his  guests. 

"  We  are  undoubtedly,"  said  he,  "  the  most  religious,  because 
the  freest  people  on  earth.  Nowhere  is  the  word  of  God  so 
widely  spread,  so  truly  revered  as  in  the  United  States.  Every 
hearthstone  is  an  altar,  and  every  mother's  heart  a  well  of 
prayer.  As  for  our  preachers,  they  come  among  us  like  bro- 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEK1E.          215 

thers,  not  rulers,  and  the  Bible  is  the  corner  stone  of  our  consti« 
tution." 

Colonel  de  Courcy  thought  otherwise.  He  thought  that 
compulsory  respect  for  the  order  of  priesthood  was  a  radical 
part  of  national  prosperity.  That  as  the  "  twig  was  bent,  so 
the  tree  inclined,"  and  that  religion  ought  to  be  a  part  of  govern- 
ment. 

Whole  hours  were  spent  in  that  polite  and  useless  contro- 
versy, which  the  reader  can  so  well  appreciate  without  further 
explanation  or  detail. 

At  the  close  of  one  of  these  political  "dialogues,"  for  they 
hardly  amounted  to  the  dignity  of  conversation,  being  entirely 
devoid  of  its  freedom  and  discursiveness,  Dr.  Quintilian  ventured 
to  remind  Colonel  de  Courcy,  that  in  spite  of  his  allegiance  to 
established  forms,  he  had  avowed  a  few  days  past,  during  their 
stroll  through  the  oak  forest,  that  his  only  profound  and  abiding 
impressions  of  Christianity  had  been  derived  from  a  wandering 
missionary,  a  dissenter  and  an  enthusiast. 

"  Say  fanatic,  rather,"  he  admitted,  laughingly,  "  for  such  he 
certainly  proved  himself  later,  when  he  set  out,  knapsack  on 
shoulder,  to  walk  from  the  borders  of  India  to  the  northern  part 
of  Russia,  for  the  purpose  of  converting  the  Czar.  He  had  been 
preaching  to  us,  poor  jungle-bound  soldiers,  for  some  months, 
purely  for  the  love  of  the  thing,  and  the  pity  he  felt  for  our  be- 
nighted condition,  and  not  without  effect. 

"  When  men  have  been  thrown  together,  until  the  hideousness 
of  all  hearts  becomes  manifest,  with  no  q£her  resource  against 
such  society  than  the  companionship  of  Thugs,  Sepoys,  tigers, 
and  crocodiles  might  afford  them,  they  are  glad  to  be  persuaded 
that  there  is  a  pitying  God,  a  self-sacrificing  Saviour. 


£16          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

"I  am  not  ashamed  to  say,  that  I  was  completely  carried  off 
my  feet  by  that  strolling  missionary,  and  that  I  received  from 
the  hand  of  '  Evan  Meredith '  the  baptism,  which  as  an  infant 
had  never  been  bestowed  on  me." 

"  Lilian  started.  How  the  name  had  thrilled  her,  associated 
as  it  was  inextricably  with  the  past. 

"  What  manner  of  man  was  he,  Colonel  de  Courcy  ?"  she 
asked,  earnestly. 

"  Oh  !  a  very  apostolic  sort  of  man,  with  a  St.  John  counte- 
nance, full  of  peace  and  praise,  with  great  fanatical-looking, 
beaming  blue  eyes.  He  had  exquisite  hands,  I  remember,  and 
beautiful  curling  brown  hair,  which  never  looked  rusty  nor 
neglected,  although  no  hat  ever  covered  it.  He  looked  like  a 
woman,  from  his  natural  deficiency  of  beard — and  wore  a  robe  of 
iome  coarse  blue  fabric  like  an  ancient  Greek,  or  a  Dervish  rather. 
His  voice  was  very  musical,  and  he  had  a  gift  of  persuasion  (one 
could  scarcely  call  it  eloquence),  and  a  sort  of  dignified  meekness 
very  peculiar — that  was  the  most  puzzling  thing  !  Nobody  ever 
laughed  at  any  of  his  absurdities,  though  not  for  the  want  of  the 
will,  but  the  power.  He  disarmed  one  so  !  You  would  have 
been  amused  at  his  dinners.  The  angel  that  came  to  ^ine  with 
Adam  and  Eve  would  have  enjoyed  them,  probably.  No  warm 
food  ever  passed  his  lips,  no  flesh,  no  wine — no  eggs,  even — 
no  fish — never  was  there  such  an  anchorite. 

"  Everlasting  fruit,  and  cold  boiled  rice,  crusts  of  bread,  and 
water — he  ought  to  have  lived  with  Goldsmith's  celebrated 
'  Hermit  of  the  Dale.'  Don't  you  think  so,  Mrs.  Quintilian  ?" 

"Strange,  strange,  indeed!"  she  answered,  absently  ;  "but  it 
interests  me  so  to  hear  about  him,  pray  proceed  in  your  relation 
— tell  me  everything  you  know." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBES.          217 

"  There  is  little  more  to  tell,  except  that  we  found  out  he  was 
a  snake-charmer  as  well  as  a  soul-charmer.  One  day  he  was  sit- 
ting with  me  in  my  tent,  with  several  other  officers  (I  might  as 
well  confess,  we  were  holding  a  sort  of  meeting — literally,  a 
camp-meeting),  when  suddenly  upstarted  a  cobra  capella,  almost 
before  my  very  face  !  Of  course,  I  sprang  back  in  great  con- 
sternation; others  more  remote  got  hastily  out  of  the  way,  but  I 
could  not  do  this,  I  was  so  near  the  corner  of  the  tent. 

"  There  stood  the  frightful  thing  poising  himself  before  me — 
death  in  his  very  glance  ;  you  cannot  think  how  hideous  these 
creatures  are,  with  their  great  muffled  throats  and  grinning 
serpent  faces,  and  burning  eyes,  of  devilish  malignity — Satan  him- 
self took  such  a  form,  I  know,  when  he  tempted  Eve  ;  but  why 
digress  ?  The  crisis  was  stringent,  I  was  so  agitated  that  I  was 
.almost  ready  to  capitulate,  having  an  instinctive  weakness  about 
serpents  that  amounts  to  positive  cowardice. 

"  I  staggered  back  against  the  canvas  of  the  tent  j  in  another 
moment  I  should  have  fallen,  when  I  heard  a  low  musical  squeal, 
if  such  a  thing  could  be — -just  such  a  noise  as  the  singing-mouse 
must  have  made,  prolonged,  thrilling,  sharp,  loudening,  but  not 
deepening,  gradually,  until  it  filled  the  tent  with  its  wild,  wailing 
melody.  It  recalled  me  to  my  senses.  I  started,  I  looked 
around,  and  as  I  live,  Dr.  Quintilian,  I  saw  the  snake  lying  mo- 
tionless at  the  feet  of  Evan  Meredith  !  In  another  moment,  still 
playing  on  the  singular  pipe  he  held  to  his  lips,  he  turned  and  left 
the  tent,  and  the  snake  crept  after  him.  I  had  never  seen  any- 
thing like  that  before,  even  among  native  snake-charmers,  and  the 
palanquin-bearers  called  it  witchcraft. 

"  Soon  after  that  Evan  Meredith  disappeared,  without  a  single 
farewell  ;  but  I,  who  had  so  often  beard  him  declare  it  his  voca- 


218  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVER1E. 

tion,  ever  believed  that  he  journeyed  to  St.  Petersburg  on  foot, 
to  convert  the  Czar — Lucifer  himself. 

"I  was  strengthened  in  this  belief  some  years  later,  by  an  ac- 
count given  me  in  Calcutta,  by  a  brother  officer,  who  had  seen  a 
most  peculiar-looking  man  surrounded  by  an  agitated  crowd, 
dressed  in  that  singular  blue  cotton  robe,  and  wearing  long, 
tangled  curls,  praying  in  the  great  square  of  St.  Isaac's,  under 
the  statue  of  Peter  the  Great,  for  the  Czar,  and  his  salvation. 

"The  police  quickly  swept  him  out  of  sight ;  but  what  became 
of  him  none  ever  knew.  The  acts  of  Nicholas  were  all  mys- 
terious, never  magnanimous,  you  know." 

"  He  died  a  martyr,"  said  Lilian,  deeply  moved.  "  I  am  so 
glad,  to  have  known  his  earlier  history!" 

"Why,  Lilian — this  was  the  tenant  of  the  Russian  prison, 
whose  death  made  way  for  your  grandfather  1  It  is  a  wonderful 
coincidence,  to  be  sure.  We  have  his  Bible  with  all  its  strange 
marginal  notes,  and  the  shell  of  the  tortoise  he  charmed,  as  he 
did  the  cobra  capella,  and  his  singular  lute.  Lilian,  relate  the 
circumstances  as  you  heard  them,  to  Colonel  de  Courcy." 

Mrs.  Quintilian  then  told  what  she  knew  of  Evan  Meredith,  in 
connection  with  her  grandfather  and  the  Russian  prison,  and  thus 
another  link  was  added  by  this  seeming  chance,  to  the  history  of 
the  "  Household  of  Bouverie." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          219 


CHAPTER  VI. 

IT  was  after  the  late  dinner  of  the  day  that  preceded  his  depar- 
ture from  Bouverie,  the  same  day  on  which  Lilian  had  shown  him 
her  grandfather's  portrait,  that  Colonel  de  Courcy  reminded  her 
of  her  promise  made  in  the  morning  to  give  him  a  volume  of  her 
poems.  She  determined  to  go  at  once  in  quest  of  this,  while  her 
guests  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room,  and  gathered  around  the 
blazing  fire,  built  even  more  for  cheerfulness  than  warmth,  and 
heaped  with  freshly  cut  pine  branches,  in  the  olden  autumnal 
fashion  of  Bouverie. 

Entering  the  lateral  hall,  from  which  all  partitions  had  been 
removed,  so  that  it  swept  now,  as  it  had  originally  done,  across 
the  whole  breadth  of  the  house  ;  she  opened  a  door,  leading  from 
it  into  a  square  tower,  one  of  two  not  long  since  erected,  in  the 
angular  recesses  formed  by  the  projection  of  the  large  octagon 
chamber,  from  the  main  building  ;  and,  almost  in  darkness,  com- 
menced the  ascent  of  the  winding  stairway  it  contained.  This 
stair  was  one  she  used  for  domestic  and  private  purposes  alone. 
That  contained  in  the  tower  on  the  other  hand,  wider,  and  better 
finished  and  with  the  dome  above  it  open  to  the  summit,  with  its 
great  clock  in  full  view,  was  reserved  for  the  use  of  guests. 

Both  of  these  stairs  led  to  the  lateral  hall  above,  freed  as 
well  as  that  beneath,  from  all  partitions  now,  and  into  which 
the  doors  of  the  guest-chambers  opened  on  the  opposite 
side. 

Exemption  was  thus  secured  to  the  rotunda,  now  magnificently 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

fitted  as  a  library  and  picture  gallery,  from  its  old  use  as  a 
thoroughfare,  although  doors  still  connected  it  with  those  apart- 
ments once  occupied  by  the  Master  of  Bouverie. 

At  the  head  of  the  left  hand  stair,  which  Mrs.  Quintilian 
ascended  now,  there  was  a  small  square  landing,  presenting  two 
doors  ;  that  in  front  led  into  the  lateral  hall,  and  faced  the  por- 
tal of  the  opposite  bedroom  ;  that  on  the  side  gave  into  a  minia- 
ture apartment,  partly  lined  with  shelves.  The  western  tower 
was  thus  divided  into  two  floors,  and  of  this  turret-chamber,  Mrs. 
Quintilian  only  knew  the  mystery  ;  no  one  else  ever  set  foot  there. 
She  even  did  not  enter  it  often,  and  never  without  emotion.  There 
she  had  treasured  ah1  her  sacred  relics  of  the  past.  Jasper's  un- 
finished pictures,  his  easel,  his  very  pallets  still  stained  with  their 
various  faded  colors ;  the  old  Silenus  mask  itself  was  carefully  pre- 
served. On  the  wall  hung  the  lyre,  the  shell  of  Merodach,  the  study 
robe  of  velvet,  the  brocade  dressing  gown,  one  and  all,  so  personally 
connected  with  her  grandfather.  In  a  small  ebony  case  of 
drawers  beneath,  were  all  of  his  chemical  effects  that  could  be 
found  after  the  explosion,  some  uncut  jewels,  and  the  mother  of 
pearl  casket  holding  its  inestimable  "  gnome  eye."  The  pyramidal 
vial,  containing  what  remained  of  his  medicine  at  the  period  of 
his  death  still  threw  out  amber  light  whenever  brought  even 
for  a  moment  from  its  dark  receptacle,  and  still  exhibited 
the  strange  phenomenon  of  the  writhing  and  collapsing  tiny 
golden  serpent,  when  agitated  at  all.  Her  grandmother's  rosary, 
crucifix,  Prie  Dieu,  breviary  were  also  there,  and  the  book  still 
lying  open  as  they  found  it  on  her  knees,  on  the  day  of  her  death, 
containing  the  sermons  of  Bossuet.  Other  memorials,  too  nume- 
rous to  mention,  were  likewise  carefully  preserved  ;  but  I  digress  ia 
enumerating  these  things  here,  nor  was  it  to  this  room  that  Lilian's 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  2S?1 

steps  were  directed  on  the  evening  in  question.  She  passed  the 
door  with  a  rapid  step  and  opened  that  immediately  in  front, 
which  gave  into  the  upper  entry.  As  she  emerged  from  it  a  bat 
whirled  blindly  past  her,  striking  her  cheek  with  its  wing  in  its 
flight,  and  startling  her  slightly.  For  a  moment  the  idea  of 
turning  back  for  a  candle  occurred  to  her,  but  there  was  still 
light  enough  from  the  western  window  of  the  hall  to  guide  her  to 
the  rotunda,  from  the  skylight  of  which  she  knew  must  stream  a 
still  stronger  radiance.  A  few  red  beams  from  the  declining  sun 
chequered  the  floor  as  she  entered  the  library  ;  these  faded,  how- 
ever, after  a  few  moments,  suddenly  away  into  greyness  and  nn- 
distinguishable  shadow.  She  had  in  the  short  interval  of  time  I 
have  indicated,  however,  between  sunset  and  the  rapid  succession 
of  autumn  twilight,  secured  the  book  which  made  her  errand,  and 
was  turning  to  leave  the  rotunda,  with  an  unquiet  haste,  quite 
foreign  from  her  usual  calmness  of  movement,  when  her  steps 
were  arrested,  her  ear  ravished  by  a  low  thrilling  sound,  that 
seemed  to  rise  from  the  floor,  and  gradually  fill  the  rotunda  with 
its  wild,  low,  wailing  melody.  It  recalled  vividly  the  notes  drawu 
from  the  lyre  of  Merodach,  but  was  louder,  wilder,  more  ear- 
piercing  and  overpowering  than  any  tones  of  that  instrument. 
Just  as  her  senses  seemed  to  reel  before  its  prolonged  intensity  of 
vibrations,  it  lessened  in  volume,  and  in  searching  power,  and 
gradually  died  away  with  a  plaintive  wail  into  perfect  silence. 

Simultaneously  with  the  decline  of  this  singular  sound,  with  its 
unmistakable  associations,  Lilian  saw,  with  distended  eyes,  glid- 
ing among  the  shadows  a  dull,  violet-colored  flame,  that  after  a  f 
moment  or  two  sped  swiftly  across  the  floor  of  the  rotunda  from 
the  external  wall,  and  flickered  around  her  feet. 

Then,  in  that  voice  so  long  familiar,  so  long  silent,  that  pern- 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEREE. 

liar,  never-to-be-mistaken  voice,  with  its  silvery  articulation,  its 
pathetic  vibrations  came  forth — that  word,  more  soul- stirring  in 
such  tones  than  any  other  her  ear  had  ever  received — her  own 
name  uttered  thrice  in  accents  of  passionate  appeal — 

"  Lilian  1  Lilian  1  Lilian  1"  So  rang  out  the  thrilling  cry  of  the 
dead — mournful,  wild,  despairing,  as  the  wail  of  the  winter  wind. 

Her  feet  grew  to  the  floor,  her  head  seemed  to  reach  the  dome 
above  her,  in  the  elation  of  her  agony,  and  for  an  instant  her 
heart  beat  wildly,  as  if  endued  with  a  separate  volition  ;  it  was 
trying  to  tear  itself  from  her  bosom,  and  throw  itself,  bare,  pal- 
pitating, and  bleeding,  past  her  throat,  against  her  very  lips. 
Then  came  a  momentary  reaction.  The  book  dropped  to  the  floor 
with  a  dull,  death-like  sound,  as  throwing  her  hands  wildly  up  she 
plunged  forward  into  the  shadow,  as  if  to  grasp  the  flame  which 
still  eluded  her,  and  with  the  word  "grandfather"  quivering  on 
her  lips,  fell  with  her  arms  extended,  senseless  on  the  floor. 

It  was  thus  that  Bianca  found  her  an  hour  later,  when  the  arrival 
of  guests  made  it  necessary  to  seek  her.  But  of  the  incident 
just  described  (if  such  it  might  be  called)  nothing  was  said,  and 
it  was  only  to  the  trembling  Bianca  that  Lilian  revealed  the  cause 
of  her  sudden  swoon. 

When  the  tea  urn  steamed  on  the  table,  Mrs.  Quintilian  entered 
the  dining-room,  pale,  yet  quite  collected,  and  bearing  the  requested 
book  of  poems  in  her  hand. 

A  slight  allusion  to  transient  indisposition  satisfied  every  one 
as  to  the  motive  of  her  absence,  yet  she  did  not  recover  her 
spirits,  nor  participate  in  the  gaiety  and  almost  hilarious  enjoy- 
ment of  her  guests,  to  the  number  of  which  two  more  had  been 
unexpectedly  added. 

Governor  Staunton  and  Mr.  Clavering  had  galloped  over  from 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          223 

Grosvenor,  where  the  last  was  making  an  autumnal  visit,  accord- 
ing to  custom,  to  call  on  the  English  guests  of  Mrs.  Quintilian. 

They  brought  in  fresh  elements  for  conversation,  and  Dr.  Quin- 
tilian was  drawn  out  artistically  by  those  who  understood  him  of 
old,  so  that  he  revealed  undiscovered  treasures  of  humor,  until 
now  lost  on  Colonel  de  Courcy,  or  rather  by  him  unsuspected. 

Mr.  Clavering  seemed  charmed  with  Lady  Edith  and  her 
beautiful  boys,  and  Lilian  surveyed  the  scene  with  calm  satisfac- 
tion, yet  the  burden  at  her  heart,  and  the  physical  weariness  she 
felt  prevented  her  enjoyment.  The  eager,  bustling  children  had 
disappeared,  the  first  exhilaration  of  conversation  was  over,  the 
night  wore  on.  Governor  Staunton  had  obtained  possession  of 
Lady  Edith's  ear.  Mr.  Clavering  was  released,  and  found  him- 
self soon  where  he  always  preferred  to  be,  sitting  by  Lilian's 
side. 

"You  are  'distraite'  to-night,"  he  said,  "what  ails  you?  I 
fear  there  is  something  more  than  mere  indisposition  at  work. 
Do  tell  me  how  I  can  serve  you  ?" 

She  did  not  reply  immediately.  "  Who  cares  for  me  as  he 
does,  after  all  ?"  she  thought.  "Am  I  not  unwise,  perverse,  per- 
haps, to  put  away  such  unwearying  affection  ?  Twelve  years  of 
constancy — should  these  go  for  nothing  ?  Might  I  not  be  happy, 
as  the  word  is  commonly  understood — far  happier  than  I  am  now 
with  such  a  man  as  he  ?  What  is  this  fond  madness  that  binds  . 
me,  Ixion-like,  on  the  wheel  of  the  past  ?"  ^ 

Quickly  as  light  these  thoughts  swept  through  her  brain  ;  but 
she  only  said — 

"  Yes,  you  are  right ;  there  is  something  more  than  mere 
physical  languor  wrong  with  me  to-night,  but  do  not  ask  me 
about  it  yet;  another  time  I  will  tell  you,  probably;  but  it  is  too 


224  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

recent,  too  mysterious  now.  Try  and  distract  Dr.  Quintilian'a 
attention  from  me,  if  possible  ;  if  he  speaks  to  me  I  shall  break 
down  completely.  You  know  I  must  sustain  myself  until  they 
go,  and  then —  oh,  Mr.  Clavering,  what  then  ?"  She  gazed  in  his 
face  with  wild  and  wistful  eyes.  "  Colonel  de  Courcy  is  right. 
Bouverie  is  killing  me,  soul  and  body,"  she  murmured,  as  she 
drew  her  fingers  slowly  across  her  brow. 

He  had  never  seen  her  so  wrung,  so  wildly  agitated.  It  was  a 
relief  to  both  when  the  footman  came  in  and  announced  a  colla- 
tion ready  in  the  dining-room.  A  storm  had  risen  unobserved 
without,  a  sudden  equinoctial  gale,  while  all  were  more  or  less  en- 
gaged in  social  enjoyment.  The  lightning  blazed  through  the 
Transom  glass,  above  the  front  door  of  the  vestibule,  as  they 
crossed  the  dimly-lighted  hall  to  reach  the  supper-room,  and  soon 
the  rain  was  heard  driving  furiously  against  the  window-panes, 
the  shutters  of  which  were  still  unclosed. 

There  was  a  strange  stillness  among  those  who  gathered  around 
the  board  (on  which  the  usual  fruits,  wines,  ices,  meats,  and  salads 
were  served),  caused  probably  by  the  sudden  violence  of  the  storm, 
which  often,  when  electric,  I  think  exercises  a  crushing  influence 
over  mere  animal  spirits  from  mechanical  causes.  Or,  it  may 
have  been  that  Mrs.  Quintilian's  peculiar  quietude  and  pallor  had 
at  last  attracted  attention,  and  awakened  sympathy. 

In  the  midst  of  this  lull  of  life,  there  came  a  crash,  so  sudden 
and  terrific,  so  near  at  hand,  that  a  bomb-shell  bursting  on  the 
roof  could  scarcely  hare  been  so  startling.  The  glass,  brimming 
with  wine,  was  struck  by  the  concussion  from  Governor  Staunton's 
hand,  and  the  floor  trembled,  as  if  beset  by  terrors.  The  gentlemen 
rushed  simultaneously  to  the  hall,  whence  the  sound  proceeded. 

Lilian,  wildly  agitated,  clung  to  Lady  Edith,  and  was  borne, 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  225 

half  fainting,  to  her  room,  where  she  lay,  in  a  trance-like  condi- 
tion of  nervous  ecstasy,  for  hours,  not  swooning  nor  insensible, 
but  nerveless  and  motionless.  The  consequence  of  this  seizure 
was  slight  illness,  which  confined  her  to  her  bed  for  twenty-four 
hours  afterward. 

Before  she  was  able  to  rally  entirely,  her  guests  were  gone 
— two  to  Grosvenor,  the  rest  to  Washington — not  however 
without  a  personal  interchange  of  farewell  courtesies  on  her 
part  with  the  last,  from  whom  her  separation  might  be  of  years. 
It  had  been  determined  not  to  acquaint  her  with  the  extent 
of  injury  inflicted  by  the  storm,  until  her  nerves  should  be  hi 
better  condition.  Toward  evening,  Dr.  Quintilian  ventured  to 
communicate  the  truth.  The  electric  fluid  had  struck  tbe  chim- 
ney of  the  drawing-room,  and  glancing  downward,  without  injury 
to  the  chamber  above,  had  been  attracted  from  its  path,  probably 
by  the  large  iron  hooks  that  supported  the  picture  of  Erastus 
Bouverie,  and  which  penetrated  the  walls  above  the  mantel  into 
the  flue  itself. 

The  consequence  had  been  the  destruction  of  that  superb  paint 
ing,  which  was  found  lying  on  the  carpet  scorched  to  cinders. 
The  mere  remnant  that  remained  was  of  no  value,  embracing  aa 
it  did  the  lower  part  of  the  figure  and  the  background  above  the 
head  alone  ;  singularly  enough  the  frame  was  uninjured. 

Lilian  bore  this  announcement  with  a  sort  of  bitter  patience, 
and  now  it  became  her  turn  to  relate  her  strange  vision  to  Dr. 
Quintilian — a  vision  thus  far  realized,  as  it  might  seem  to  the 
mind  inclined  to  superstition. 

Again  a  dark  shadow,  never  to  be  dispelled,  brooded  ovrr  the 
household  of  Bouyerie,  swept  perhaps  this  time  from  th« 
terious  wing  of  destiny  itself. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  MONTH  later,  Lady  Edith  Sinclair  returned  to  Bouverie. 
She  came  on  this  occasion  unannounced,  and  walked  the  mile 
from  the  depot  to  the  mansion,  through  the  long  avenue  of  half 
leafless  oaks  that  skirted  the  road,  leaning  on  her  husband's  arm. 
Children  and  servants  had  been  left  behind  as  supernumeraries. 
No  carriage  had  been  summoned.  She  came  this  time  in  the 
capacity  of  a  humble  minister  to  an  overpowering  affliction. 

Again  Bianca  opened  the  door  to  admit  the  guests,  bursting 
into  tears  as  she  did  so,  and  covering  her  face  with  one  hand, 
while  she  extended  the  other  to  Lady  Edith. 

"Oh,  bless  you,  bless  you,  my  lady,  you  have  come  to  a 
wretched  house — walk  in."  And  she  mechanically  proceeded  to 
open  the  drawing-room  door.  Then  wiping  her  eyes,  she  asked — 

"  Where  is  Colonel  de  Courcy  ?     This  is  another  gentleman. ' 

"  My  husband,  Biaiica,  Lord  Sinclair."  She  courtesied  low. 
11  Colonel  de  Courcy  sailed  for  England  the  very  day  before  that 
disaster." 

"  Don't  name  it,  my  lady.  It  seems  like  a  miserable  dream 
still.  I  can't  believe  it  is  true.  I  am  half  crazed,  I  believe." 

"  Oh,  no,  Biauca,  your  feelings  ~are  perfectly  natural  under  the 
pressure  of  extreme  sorrow.  I  even,  who  knew  her  so  briefly, 
have  felt  almost  amazed  with  grief." 

"  An  angel  like  her,  my  lady,  to  be  so  given  up  to  the  Imnds 
of  the  evil  one  !" 
/'  God  directs  all,  Bianca." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          227 

"  We  don't  know,  Lady  Edith.  See  how  Job,  the  just  man, 
was  surrendered  to  Lucifer.  Think  of  those  warnings." 

Lady  Edith  had  never  heard  of  them,  and  did  not  understand 
her  allusion.  She  hastened  to  inquire  for  Dr.  Quintilian,  whose 
desolate  condition  moved  all  her  sympathies. 

"  How  does  he  seem,  Bianca  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Oh,  poorly,  madam,  poorly  ;  yet  he  bears  up  like  a  man. 
Shall  I  tell  him  you  are  here,  Lady  Edith  ?  I  think  he  will 
receive  you  at  once,  if  not  the  gentleman." 

"  Do  so,  if  you  please.  Add  that  Lord  Sinclair  wishes  to  take 
him  by  the  hand,  but  that  we  can  wait  one,  two,  three  days,  as 
he  pleases,  until  he  is  prepared  to  see  us — wait  his  own  good 
time." 

The  husband  of  Lady  Edith,  still  a  stranger  at  Bouverie, 
was  a  diplomatist  of  some  distinction,  then  on  a  mission  from 
England  to  the  United  States.  He  was  an  intelligent  though 
scarcely  intellectual  man,  firm  of  purpose,  honorable  in  character, 
fine  looking,  fresh  colored,  and  about  fifteen  years  older  than  his 
wife,  between  whom  and  himself  there  existed  an  unusual  con- 
geniality as  well  as  attachment. 

It  must  not  be  concealed,  that  he  had  accompanied  Lady  Edith 
to  Bouverie  with  considerable  reluctance,  and  merely  from  a  sense 
of  duty.  His  English  horrors  of  scenes  to  which  he  supposed 
Americans  to  be  addicted,  made  him  nervously  apprehensive  of 
his  interview  with  Dr.  Quintilian.  It  was,  therefore,  with 
unfeigned  disappointment  that  he  found  himself  included  in  the 
invitation  to  go  into  the  presence  of  the  sorrowing  man,  when 
Bianca  returned. 

She  ushered  the  guests  into  the  dining-room,  where  Dr.  Quin- 
*.rtian  was  seated  in  his  great  chair  by  the  fire.  He  advanced  to 
26 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE. 

meet  them  as  they  entered  with  extended  hands,  but  without  the 
power  to  articulate  a  syllable  He  had  counted  on  greater  self- 
possession,  and  it  was  not  without  mortification  that  he  found 
himself  so  suddenly  overcome — "  interdit "  as  it  were.  "With  a 
mute  gesture  he  invited  them  to  be  seated,  then  taking  out  his 
large  pocket-handkerchief,  he  walked  to  the  window  and  stood 
awhile,  burying  his  face  in  its  folds,  giving  way  to  a  hearty  burst 
of  silent  grief.  When,  after  a  few  moments,  he  turned  and 
approached  his  guests  again,  his  features  were  quite  composed, 
and  he  had  wiped  away  the  traces  of  his  tears. 

"  We  have  a  fine  autumn,  Lord  Sinclair,"  were  the  words  he 
mechanically  uttered,  as  he  reseated  himself. 

"  A  lovelier  season  I  never  saw,"  was  the  relieved  response  of 
the  Englishman,  who  "  hated  scenes."  "  Your  climate  surpasses 
ours,  certainly,  at  this  period  of  the  year." 

"  Your  boys  are  well,  I  hope  ?"  turning  to  Lady  Edith 
abruptly.  "  Why  did  you  not  bring  them  down  ?" 

"  We  feared  they  might  disturb  you  at  this  time,  Dr.  Quin- 
tilian  ;  children  are  so  noisy,  so  uusympathizing." 

"  Ah  !"  he  waved  his  hand,  and  half  rose  in  the  chair  he  had 
taken,  as  if  impatient  of  the  faintest  allusion  to  his  condition,  his 
irreparable  loss,  at  least  from  another. 

"  You  are  better,  Dr.  Quintilian,  than  I  dared  hope  to  see  you  ?" 

"  Yes,  better  ;  as  well,  probably,  as  I  shall  ever  be  again — the 
nature  of  things  is  fixed  now  ;"  then  hesitating,  he  added  ;  "  I 
should  have  been  pleased  to  have  seen  Colonel  de  Courcy." 

"He  has  sailed,  very  unexpectedly,  for  England." 

"  Gone  home,  has  he  ?  Home  !  what  a  word  !  as  if  place  had 
anything  to  do  with  home  after  all,"  he  muttered.  "  He,  too, 
will  be  quite  lonely  for  a  season,"  he  added,  speaking  louder. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.  229 

* 

"  Yes,  until  we  return." 

"  Return  !"  He  smiled,  half  bitterly,  as  he  repeated  the  word, 
go  yam  to  him — plunged  the  fire-irons  in  among  the  coals,  and 
stirred  to  life  their  dull,  bituminous  blaze — then  rising  abruptly, 
rang  the  bell." 

A  footman  answered  the  summons.  "  Refreshments,  James,  at 
once,  for  Lord  and  Lady  Sinclair.  They  breakfasted  early — go 
to  Bianca."  He  spoke  mechanically — then  sinking  back  in  his 
chair  again,  fell  into  a  deep  musing  silence. 

He  was  startled  by  the  entrance  of  the  servant  with  a 
tray. 

"  I  forget  myself  strangely  to-day,"  he  said,  rousing  from  his 
reverie. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,  sir  ?  lord  ?"  "  Sinclair."  The  word  was 
supplied  in  a  whisper  by  Lady  Edith. 

"  Aye,  Lord  Sinclair,  I  lose  myself  constantly.  Truly,  a 
noble  name,  and  one  often  heard  by  me  with  pleasure,  in  times  gone 
by — connected  as  it  was  with  so  much  that  was  fearless  and 
honest  in  diplomacy,  a  profession  in  which  usually  but  little  of 
such  leaven  is  found." 

He  was  making  a  great  effort  now  ;  but  his  voice  sounded 
forced  and  hollow. 

"  Eat,  I  pray  you,"  he  added,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand,  "  if 
anything  there  appears  worthy  of  your  appetites.  The  wine  is 
good,  mister— Lord— Sinclair,"  with  his  hand  to  his  brow,  as  if  to 
fix  an  idea.  "  Don't  be  afraid  of  it — old,  and  of  a  choice  vintage. 
The  grapes,  they  say,  grew  over  the  site  of  an  earthquake-covered 
city  somewhere  in  the  south  of  Portugal,  I  forget  the  name  of 
the  place,  just  now.  I  wonder,"  he  muttered,  "  if  moral  earth- 
quakes ever  produce  good  fruit— anything  better  than  sorrow, 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

shame,  remorse,  despair,  or  all  that  sort  of  thing  ?  That  old  fable 
of  the  house  of  Atreus — what  a  terrible  thing  it  was !" 

In  the  very  irrelevance  of  these  words  there  was  much  that 
was  impressive,  awful  even,  to  his  hearers. 

He  rose,  and  walked  away,  and  again  stood  by  the  window, 
apparently  gazing  out  upon  the  lovely  scene  before  him  ;  pre- 
sently he  returned. 

"  The  mystery  of  the  atonement  is  forced  upon  me  very  won- 
derfully of  late,"  he  said,  resuming  his  seat,  and  speaking  low, 
with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  "  not  only  as  we  understand  it  in 
the  Saviour's  case,  but  as  a  component  part  of  man's  nature,  ex- 
isting through  all  time — a  necessity  even.  Men  have  always  con- 
ciliated sin  with  sacrifice.  The  Cretans  offered  up  the  loveliest  of 
(the  Greek  youth  to  their  hideous  Minotaur  monster.  The  Pe- 
ruvians and  Egyptians  propitiated  thus  their  priest-governed 
idols  :  lambs,  doves,  innocent  maidens,  all  the  purest,  sweetest 
creatures  in  nature,  have  been  selected  for  such  offering. 
Who  ever  thought  of  offering  a  wolf,  or  panther,  as  a  holo- 
caust ?  Why  is  this  ?  Why  does  he  sanction  such  terrific 
wrong  ?  I  confess  I  cannot  understand  it  all,  nor  shall  until 
the  day  of  doom." 

"  We  are  not  called  upon  to  understand,  only  to  submit,"  said 
Lady  Edith,  who  now  drew  her  chair  beside  him  (having  tasted 
only  a  morsel  from  the  various  food  before  her),  and  thus  replied 
to  his  soliloquy. 

"  Aye,  submission  is  a  necessity,  I  know,  a  part  of  policy  even  as 
we  are  situated,  for,  like  the  blindworm,  we  can  only  sting  our- 
selves by  rebellion.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  Creator 
cares  even  if  he  knows." 

"  Pause,  Dr.  Quiutilian  !     You,  a  religious  man,  to  utter  such 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOTJVEKIE.  231 

a  sentiment !  It  pains  me  to  the  heart.  Remember,  that  '  whom 
He  loveth  he  chasteueth.' " 

"  May  there  not  be  too  much  chastening  ?  Is  it  not  a  com- 
mon error  of  disciplinarians  to  overdo  chastisement  ?  Sorrow 
must  stop  at  the  right  point  to  be  advantageous  to  the  human 
soul.  It  had  stopped  at  the  right  point  with  me  ;  why  overshoot 
the  mark  ?  The  Scriptures  compare  God  to  a  refiner  of  silver,  a 
very  subtile  and  beautiful  comparison,  when  the  delicate  process  of 
refining  this  metal  is  understood.  We  know  how  easily  it  is  over- 
done, how  necessary  it  is  to  discriminate.  I  am  afraid  the  Great 
Refiner  overdoes  his  work,  also,  in  some  souls." 

Again  that  fearful  accusation  of  levity  against  the  Creator  ! 
Lady  Edith  was  inexpressibly  shocked  ;  was  the  noble,  self- 
denying,  truly  religious  life  of  this  man  all  to  end  in  cold  despair 
and  a  bitter  sense  of  injury  ?  Would  not  God  call  his  child  to 
Ms  arms  again  ?  Would  he  not  heed  the  call  ?  She  determined 
no  longer  to  avoid  direct  allusion  to  the  subject  of  his  grief.  She 
would  probe  the  wound,  and  bring  about  a  more  healthy  action. 
She  would  force  him  to  his  knees  if  only  through  fresh  agony. 

In  the  time  of  silence  during  which  these  thoughts  had  swayed 
her  mind,  Lord  Sinclair  had  risen  and  gone  out,  hat  in  hand,  glad  to 
break  away  from  the  gloom  of  such  a  presence,  and  willing  to  leave 
his  wife  the  opportunity  he  knew  she  craved  of  an  uninterrupted 
conversation  with  the  mournful  man,  who  was  now  the  "  Master 
of  Bouverie,"  for  such  by  will  of  his  niece  was  Dr.  Paul  Quintilian. 

"  Have  you  been  alone  ever  since  you  lost  her  ?"  asked  Lady 
Edith,  firmly. 

"  No,  madam,  no  !  a  faithful  friend  of  hers  and  mine,  has 
shared  my  pillow  of  thorns,  my  cup  of  tears,  until  to-day.  He, 
too,  is  grievously  shaken  ;  I  speak  of  Mr.  Clavering,  madam,  God's 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

truest  man.  But  oh,  in  the  very  nature  of  things,  his  grief  Li 
not  measurable  with  mine  I" 

"  Certainly  not,  he  was  a  friend  merely  ;  you  a  near  relative, 
and  her  protector." 

"  A  friend,  and  lover,  madam,  he  was  both  ;  not  an  accepted 
one,  it  is  true,  but  it  is  just  possible  that  in  the  end  she  might 
have  married  him.  Some  remarks  in  her  diary,  kept  faithfully  in 
the  last  twelvemonth,  perhaps  before — but  if  so  providentially 
destroyed — seem  to  point  to  a  possibility  of  this  nature.  She  looked 
to  him  evidently  as  a  certain  stay  should  her  fortitude  to  bear 
alone  give  way  against  the  ills  of  life.  She  esteemed  him  highly." 

"  I  never  suspected  this  ;  but  her  devotion  to  you  was  evidenced 
in  every  act,  every  expression  even  of  her  most  expressive  coun- 
tenance. I  never  saw  such  affection." 

"  She  was  an  angel,  madam,  an  angel !  If  she  had  any  fault,  it 
was  known  only  to  the  searcher  of  all  hearts.  Her  few  childish 
defects  fell  away  from  her  character  as  she  grew  up,  as  rain-drops 
from  a  tree  after  a  storm.  She  shook  them  all  off.  I  never  knew 
so  perfect  a  disposition,  and  of  all  the  sorrows  I  have  known,  her 
loss  has  been  the  crowning  agony. 

"Jasper,  my  son,  for  such,  in  the  nature  of  things,  I  felt 
him  to  be,  declined  slowly.  I  had  known  from  the  first,  long 
life  could  not  be  his — from  the  time,  I  mean,  when  the  dark 
blow  was  struck  at  the  very  source  of  vital  power  in  his 
infancy,  by  the  evil  genius  of  this  house.  I  was  insensibly  pre- 
pared through  years  for  his  early  death.  And  Mrs.  Bouverie, 
the  friend  of  my  orphaned  childhood,  that  noblest,  greatest  woman, 
my  profession  had  given  me  also  a  prophetic  insight  into  her 
sudden  doom.  Nor  was  it  desirable  that  her  sorrowful  life  should 
be  prolonged  to  melancholy  age  for  her  own  sake  ;  those  who 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  233 

loved  her  best  ought  not  to  have  wished  for  such  a  state  of 
things.  With  meekness,  with  heartfelt  submission,  yet  notwith- 
out  great  agony,  I  confess,  I  surrendered  these  well  beloved  ones 
to  the  shadows  of  the  grave  ;  but  the  trampled  worm  will  turn. 
I  understand  now  about  the  ewe  lamb.  Yes,  madam,  yes,  I  had 
suffered  enough.  Justice  demanded  respite." 

She  could  not  answer  him — she  had  no  words  wherewith  to 
stem  such  a  bitter  current — the  flood-gates  had  been  loosed,  and 
he  poured  out  freely  now  the  waters  of  his  grief. 

"Vigorous,  healthful,  firmly  organized,  full  of  capacity  of 
every  kind,  of  vitality  which  promised  a  far  limit  to  her  life — 
young  enough  to  have  shaken  off  her  sorrow,  and  formed  new 
ties,  contented  if  not  happy,  and  beloved  by  all  who  knew  her, 
why  should  she  have  been  cut  off  ?  Why  selected  for  such  a 
death,  unless,  indeed,  to  carry  out  that  dark  mystery  of  atone- 
ment so  inexplicable  to  me  ?" 

"  Dr.  Quintilian,  I  too  murmured  once,  when  Everard,  my  only 
brother,  in  the  pride  of  his  noble  manhood,  was  stricken  down  ; 
but  I  acknowledge  now,  blindly  and  unquestioningly,  the  wisdom 
of  my  God." 

The  instance  she  had  given  seemed  to  soften  him — the  similarity 
of  their  doom  seemed  to  strike  him  for  the  first  tune. 

"Aye,  madam,  that  too  was  supremely  awful,  mysterious, 
fore-ordained,  we  cannot  doubt  ;  I  remember  the  impression  it 
made  upon  me  at  the  time.  Yet  there  seems  to  have  been  no 
necessity  for  atonement  there." 

"  Oh,  banish  such  a  thought !  I  see  how  it  haunts  you.  Do 
not  suffer  yourself  to  imagine,  even  for  ore  moment,  that  she  was 
called  upon  to  expiate  the  crimes  of  her  grandfather.  God  has 
his  own  way  of  doing  everything  ;  we  cannot  understand  him  • 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

we  need  n«*t  try  ;  but  we  must  submit,  with  love,  with  humility, 
or  wrestle  to  the  end." 

"  Think  of  the  awful  sentence  !  The  sins  of  the  parents  shall 
be  visited  on  the  children.  You  know  the  rest." 

"Think  also  of  the  wise  interpretation  given  to  that  sentence 
by  medical  knowledge  itself  which  so  well  comprehends  the  here- 
ditary pains  of  physical  evil.  Dear  Dr.  Quintilian,  do  not  con- 
found a  general  necessity,  a  mere  physiological  ill,  with  an 
individual  vengeance." 

"  You  do  not  know  all — you  do  not  understand  everything," 
he  said.  "God  forbid  you  should  1  It  was  very  strange,  very 
mysterious.  It  was  in  Governor  Starmton's  service  that  she  met 
her  death.  In  early  years  his  brother,  Frederick,  was  thought 
to  have  fallen  by  her  grandfather's  hand.  This  much  of  his  sin  is 
probably  loosened  to  Erastus  Bouverie." 

It  seemed  a  perfect  hallucination  to  Lady  Sinclair,  such  an 
idea  !  But  what  could  she,  a  woman  accustomed  only  to  the 
practical,  the  real,  unlearned  in  logic,  profound  only  in  faith  and 
feeling — what  objections  could  she  offer  to  such  a  dark  convic- 
tion ?  She  could  but  murmur  again  of  submission  and  the  love 
of  God.  He  went  on  passionately. 

"  Madam,  I  made  too  much  an  idol  of  her,  even  from  the  first, 
I  know  it  now.  I  took  her  into  my  very  heart  of  hearts,  from 
that  first  hour  when  I  saw  her  (and  my  soul  told  me  it  was  she 
I  sought)  crouching  beneath  the  old  stone  gate,  at  Taunton 
Tower,  thinking,  sternly  thinking,  madam  (I  had  it  later  from 
her  own  truthful  lips),  of  suicide.  Do  not  think  the  worse  of  her 
for  that,  nor  deem  it  impossible  that  she,  a  child  of  scarcely 
twelve  years  of  age,  should  entertain  such  a  notion.  In  those 
poetic  natures,  madam,  troubles  press  to  a  rapid  conclusion,  and 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOCVEBIE.  235 

before  reason  triumphs,  the  wish  to  fly  from  sorrow,  to  the 
ideal  mind  is  almost  irresistible.  I  am  sorry  to  say  it ;  but  I 
believe  there  is  a  frequent  tendency  to  self-immolation  in  such 
beings,  that  they  fight  with  all  their  days. 

"  But  all  good  gifts  have  their  compensating  ills.  I  never  shall 
forget  the  impression  made  on  my  mind  by  the  little  childish 
form,  as  it  rose  from  beneath  the  shadow  of  the  column,  with  an 
elfin  suddenness,  and  stood  before  me  earnest,  motionless. 

"  She  was  small  and  slight  then,  even  for  her  age,  though  she 
grew  up  rapidly  afterward,  and  strong,  in  our  free,  republican 
air  ;  but  even  then,  there  was  the  wonderful  presence,  which  she 
always  retained.  The  wild  September  gale  was  blowing  about 
her  careless,  curling  hair,  bare  to  the  sun.  The  great  blue  eyes 
looked  out  on  me,  so  full  of  grief  and  mournful  purpose,  that 
they  thrilled  me  with  their  spiritual  depth.  She  wore  over  her 
black  dress,  so  as  to  shelter  her  bare,  childish  neck  and  aims,  a 
scarlet  shawl  of  Shetland  wool,  which  she  drew  closely  round  her 
as  she  stood  watching  for  me  to  speak.  I  never  saw  such  reti- 
cence and  grace  in  any  child.  I  took  her  to  my  heart  from  that 
hour,  madam,  with  Jasper's  self,  and  wore  her  to  the  last  proudly 
— my  precious  jewel — as  the  chief  adornment  of  my  life.  She 
came  to  Bouverie.  It  was  like  turning  a  spring  into  a  stagnant 
pool,  freshening  its  dead  waters  into  life  and  health.  She  revived 
us  all.  We  loved  her  passing  well,  and  how  she  repaid  us,  God 
knows  alone  ! 

I  am  weak  to  speak  so  much  of  my  own  sensations  to  you, 
almost  a  stranger  ;  but  bear  with  me,  I  find  it  a  relief. 

"  I  trust  the  time  may  come  when  I  may  reach  that  exalted 
state  of  mind  that  involves  perfect  submission.  As  it  is,  I 
can  lay  no  claims  to  such  a  condition  of  things.  Like  the 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOUVERIE. 

poor  serpent,  I  gnaw  the  stick  that  strikes  me.  I  am  resent- 
ful. I  trust  I  yet  may  live  to  say  with  sincerity,  'Though 
he  slay  me,  will  I  not  forsake  him.'  But,  darling,  your  fate 
was  bitter." 

He  hid  his  face  in  his  hands  ;  he  wept  aloud,  with  the  anguish 
of  a  child. 

When  he  was  quieted,  Lady  Edith  found  herself  nerved  by  the 
emotion  of  the  moment,  to  approach  him,  and  lay  her  hand  upon 
his  arm,  and  speak  some  heartfelt  words,  in  a  voice  broken  with 
feeling. 

"  She  has  rejoined  those  she  loved,"  she  said.  "  She  is  spared 
the  bitterness  of  pain,  of  grief,  of  change,  of  wearing  age.  Her 
sufferings  were  but  for  a  moment ;  her  joy  will  be  eternal !  You, 
too,  will  join  her  when  this  life  is  over.  God's  holy  will  be 
done." 

She  doubted  afterward  whether  he  heeded  or  understood  her, 
he  was  so  rapt,  and  his  lips  were  moving  silently.  Soon  lifting 
up  his  voice  to  God,  as  if  unconscious  of  any  other  presence,  Dr 
Quintilian  prayed  aloud,  for  the  first  tune  since  Lilian's  death. 

Let  us  hope  that  the  balm  of  peace  fell  over  his  bruised  an  1 
broken  heart.  Let  us  trust  that  his  cry  of  anguish,  divested  of 
all  human  infirmities,  ascended  to  the  throne  of  the  Most  High, 
where  the  record  of  his  saintly  life  was  kept,  and  found  its  merci- 
ful recognition  through  the  medium  of  Christ  the  Saviour. 

NOTE. — The  writer  of  these  last  chapters  would  here  remark,  that  when- 
ever the  mental  reflections  of  Mrs.  Quintilian  have  been  introduced  into 
this  record,  her  diary,  kept  faithfully  during  the  last  twelve  months  of  he? 
life,  has  been  referred  to  as  authority. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          237 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHEN  Lady  Edith  was  alone  that  night  with  Bianca,  who 
came  to  officiate  in  her  chamber,  and  at  her  undressing,  she  drew 
from  her  the  mournful  details  of  a  disaster,  of  which  she  had  only 
heard  the  outlines.  She  knew  that  she  could  obtain  such  a  com- 
plete recital  of  the  occurrence,  and  what  preceded  it,  as  Bianca 
could  give  her,  from  no  other  source.  She  recognized,  too,  in 
her  intercourse  with  this  faithful  servant,  the  position  of  friend 
and  confidant,  which  she  had  gained  by  her  long  and  honorable 
services,  and  disinterested  devotion,  and  treated  her  as  she  could 
have  done  no  other  menial. 

Bianca  began  with  unconscious  artistic  skill  to  trace  the  tissue 
of  Lilian's  fate,  from  the  time  of  the  vision  in  the  rotunda,  to 
the  moment  of  its  consummation. 

"  She  never  seemed  herself  entirely  after  that  evening,  my 
lady,"  said  the  attached  creature.  "  Her  cheerfulness  forsook 
her.  She  never  sang  another  note,  nor  opened  another  book  to 
read,  after  that  night ;  but  it  was  walk,  walk,  write,  write,  all 
the  time.  I  always  noticed,  my  lady,  that  those  were  the  signs 
of  misery  in  our  house.  I  loved  to  hear  the  piano  going,  and 
see  the  needles  at  work — then  I  knew  all  was  well  with  our  ladies. 
She  spoke  to  me  several  times  about  that  vision  in  the  rotunda, 
her  '  terror,'  as  she  called  it,  and  the  way  it  had  '  entered  into 
her  life,'  as  she  expressed  it,  and  'Rose/  her  own  little  maid, 
who  always  slept  in  her  room  after  Mr.  Jasper's  death,  and  was 
the  same  as  one  of  the  family,  seeing  that  her  sister  married  our 


288  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   JBOUVERffi. 

idiot — that  wretched,  wretched  creature,  the  cause  of  all  this 
sorrow,  Rose  said  she  often  heard  her  weeping  and  pray- 
ing in  the  night,  and  that  she  couldn't  help  thinking  that  some- 
thing was  weighing  heavy  on  her  mind.  Once  when  she  was 
speaking  to  me  about  her  '  terror,'  Miss  Lilian  said — 

"  '  Bianca,  the  books  must  be  removed,  or  I  must  give  them  up  ; 
I  never,  never,  can  set  my  foot  in  that  dreadful  place  again  ;  I 
used  to  pray  to  see  my  grandfather,  yet  when  he  came,  I  was 
afraid  to  meet  him.  What  a  coward  that  apparition  has  made 
of  me,  to  be  sure.  Yet  this  is  all  wrong,  perhaps  ;  Christ's  disci- 
ples were  not  made  fearful  when  he  came  among  them  after  death. 
Was  not  this  meant  as  a  lesson  to  reconcile  mortals  to  spiritual 
appearance  ?  Yet,  after  all,  there  was,  of  course,  a  wide  differ- 
ence. He  shaped  every  sentiment  to  beauty  and  to  love.  He 
was  divine  in  flesh  as  out  of  flesh.'  Then  she  mused. 

"  '  Remember  how  Saul  was  stricken  when  he  saw  Samuel,'  I 
said,  '  it  is  human  nature,  Miss  Lilian,  every  one  feels  so.  But 
you  saw  nothing  after  all,  nothing  but  that  little  dull  blue  flame 
that  might  have  been  a  gas-damp,  such  as  they  find  in  wells,  or 
maybe  a  stray  "  Will-o'-the-Wisp,"  who  knows  ?' 

"  '  Oh  !  Bianca,  it  was  the  same  flame  that  quivered  over  the 
crucible  on  the  night  Fabius  drew  my  blood.  I  never  saw  such  a 
light  before  nor  since,  until  that  evening  in  the  library.  It  was  not 
transparent ;  but  dull  and  opaque,  as  if  it  had  substance,'  and 
she  shuddered  visibly.  '  I  made  my  compact,  then,  I  suppose,' 
she  said,  '  and  I  must  abide  by  it.  But  to  think,  to  think  that  I 
should  ever  be  afraid  of  him,  living  or  dead — Sealed  with  blood  !' 
she  whispered,  then  stopped  again, '  I  have  had  so  many  happy 
days  in  that  rotunda,'  she  went  on,  '  I  cannot  bear  to  give  it  up. 
It  seems  ungrateful.  Why,  after  all,  why  should  I  be  afraid  of 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBEE.          239 

his  spiritual  presence  ?  He  never  would  harm  me  in  any  shape, 
and  to  speak  to  me,  might  comfort  him.  I  fainted  too  soon,  or  I 
am  sure  I  should  have  seen  him.  He  is  there,  Bianca,  he  is  there, 
waiting  for  me  to  come  ;  and  I  cannot  go,  I  am  such  a  coward. 
No,  I  never,  never,  can  set  my  foot  there  again.'  She  sat  shak- 
ing her  head  slowly  a  long  time  in  a  melancholy,  dreamy  sort  of 
way.  ; :.  . . 

"  '  Don't  fret  about  it  any  more,  dear/  I  said, '  Oh  !  if  Bishop 
Clare  were  only  living  I  how  glad  I  should  be.' 

" '  Dear,  dear  old  man,  I  wish  he  were,  if  indeed  it  be  not  sinful 
to  wish  a  saint  like  him  again  an  earthly  bondsman,  and  what, 
after  all,  could  he  do  in  a  case  like  this  ?' 

"'Exorcise  the  spirit,' I  answered  boldly,  'and  that's  what 
others  could  do,  as  well  as  he,  if  you  could  only  think  so,  and  let 
them  try.  Holy  water  is  holy  water  in  any  anointed  hands,  and 
there  are  still  consecrated  priests  left.' 

"  She  turned  upon  me  as  quick  as  lightning  ;  it  was  a  way  she 
had  sometimes. 

" '  Father  Conrad,  for  instance,  Bianca,'  she  said,  laughing. 
Then  growing  suddenly  serious  again,  her  cheek  flushed  slightly. 
I  saw  she  had  not  liked  my  suggestion. 

"  '  If  it  pleases  him  to  return  to  his  own  house,'  she  said  in  a  low, 
grave  voice,  '  it  would  ill  become  me,  his  child,  to  cast  him  forth, 
even  in  spirit,  if,  indeed,  such  a  thing  could  be  done  by  a  mortal 
hand.  But  oh  1  Bianca,  do  you  think  that  priest  or  bishop,  or 
pope  himself  could  ever  make  him  quail  in  any  shape  ?  Do  you 
know  so  little  of  that  fiery  heart  ?' 

"  She  looked  at  me  with  flashing  eyes  and  haughty  smile,  and  for 
one  moment  I  saw  the  resemblance  I  never  could  bear  to  see — the 
likeness  that  seemed  to  strike  out,  so  to  speak  (for  she  had  no 


240  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

feature  of  his)  — to  the  master,  and  always  blinded  me  almost,  like 
a  glare  of  sheet  lightning  ;  I  never  saw  it  half  so  strong 
before." 

"  She  must  have  loved  him  very  much,  Bianca,  very  tenderly." 

"Madam,  madam,  that  was  one  of  the  strangest  things  my 
life  has  shown  to  me,  the  blind  idolatry  of  that  child  for  her 
grandfather  ;  I  lie  in  bed  and  think  of  it  at  night  till  my  head 
swims.  What  was  the  tie  between  them  that  seemed  to  reach 
over  the  grave,  that  grave  that  snaps  all  others  ?  Does  God  yoke 
together  a  good  and  bad  spirit  from  the  first  so  that  one  may 
save  the  other  ?  Or  does  he  give  the  evil  sometimes  power  to 
drag  down  the  pure  ?  It  is  very  mysterious,  Lady  Edith,  very 
mysterious." 

"  I  am  sorry  such  fancies  enter  your  brain,  Bianca,"  was  the 
calm  reply.  "  The  love  of  Lilian  for  Mr.  Bouverie  was  a  natural 
and  noble  trait  in  her  character,  I  think  ;  but  I  cannot  believe  in 
any  undue  influence,  now  if  ever." 

"  See,  he  commands  her  still,"  persisted  Bianca  ;  "  he  called 
her,  and  she  went !"  And  she  then  told  Lady  Edith  the  vision  of 
the  thrilling  voice,  and  the  thrice  repeated  name,  as  Lilian  had 
related  it." 

"  As  for  Mister  Erastus,"  proceeded  the  fluent  dame,  "  I 
think  in  justice  to  the  name  he  ought  to  be  exorcised  still,  and 
laid  at  rest — for  who  knows,  Lady  Edith,  but  he  may  become 
one  of  those  regular  rapping  spirits,  that  are  going  the  rounds 
now,  making  shows  of  themselves,  and  so  disgrace  the  family  ?" 

Lady  Edith  looked  in  surprise  on  one  so  blinded  by  her  pre- 
judices and  fidelity,  that  she  could  imagine  further  disgrace 
possible,  in  the  case  she  referred  to  !  Erastus  Bouverie  had  not 
spared  the  living — why  should  he  spare  the  dead  name  ? 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  241 

Yet  she  made  no  comment  and  bent  her  ear  patiently  to  the 
narrative  of  Bianca,  feeling  convinced  that  it  was  only  by  humor- 
ing her  peculiarities  she  could  hope  to  learn  the  details  of  Lilian's 
last  days. 

"  The  most  of  us  had  our  warnings,  Lady  Edith,  as  well  as 
our  dear  child  herself;  even  Pat  McCormick's  wife,  a  decent 
young  creature  she  is,  our  laundress,  and  you  may  search  the 
country  and  find  no  whiter  linen  than  we  keep  at  Bouverie, 
Lady  Edith — it  was  a  thing  the  mistress  was  mighty  particular 
about,  as  well  as  the  master — even  she  had  her  signs  of  trouble, 
and  she  dee-lares  she  saw  Bishop  Clare  and  Madam  Bouverie 
walking  stately  up  the  garden,  in  the  full  moon  of  September, 
just  before  you  came  here  first,  and  says  they  disappeared 
in  the  shadow  of  the  privet-hedges,  just  by  the  wicket-gate.  The 
baby  that  was  born  a  few  weeks  later  had  a  wild,  frightened 
look  1" — (legitimately  enough,  thought  Lady  Edith,  who  had  seen 
Patrick) — "  and  Biddy,  herself,  has  never  been  the  same  woman 
since,"  continued  Bianca  ;  "as  for  Rose,  her  poor  heart  is  broken 
within  her — and  even  that  wretched  idiot  has  grown  grey  with 
trouble,  and  still  sits  by  the  fire  of  nights,  rocking,  just  as  his  old 
dame  used  to  do  before  him,  crying  and  whining,  and  accusing 
the  dead  in  their  graves  of  tempting  him  to  the  rash  act  that 
destroyed  our  peace." 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  to  send  him  away,  Bianca  ?  It  must 
be  so  trying  to  Dr.  Quintilian  to  have  him  here  !" 

"He  is  a  fixture  at  Bouverie,  by  her  will,  madam,  and  so  in- 
deed are  we  all — even  little  Rose  is  provided  for — Patrick  has 
his  cottage  and  garden  in  fee-simple,  and  I  have  a  good  income, 
my  lady,  and  a  home  for  life — if  that  could  be  any  comfort  after 
what  has  happened." 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

"  You  will  find  it  so,  Bianca,  when  the  edge  of  your  grief 
has  worn  off.  Truly,  this  was  very  noble  and  considerate  in 
Lilian  !" 

"  Then,  Dr.  Quintilian  and  the  artists  have  all  the  rest,  my 
lady,  and  the  pictures  are  to  be  distributed  equally  between  Mr. 
Clavering  and  Governor  Staunton,  and  Dr.  Paul ;  all  but  the 
family  portraits — they  remain  at  Bouverie — except  one  for  Colonel 
de  Courcy,  the  '  Aurora  ;'  and  I  heard  Dr.  Quintilian  say,  that  at 
his  death  this  house  should  stand  '  in  statu  quo,'  my  lady — some 
new  sort  of  statuary,  I  suppose,  to  be  added  to  its  adornments — 
for  the  benefit  of  sick  artists,  and  he  is  to  leave  money  enough 
to  pay  nurses  and  physicians  forever,  in  trust. 

"  It  seemed  to  comfort  him  to  draw  up  all  the  papers,  with  Mr. 
Clavering,  and  he  called  me  and  said  ;  '  Bianca,  if  you  survive 
me,  you  must  promise  to  be  matron  of  this  establishment,  and  take 
Rose  for  your  assistant  ;'  and  he  explained  his  plan  to  me." 

"  Has  he  seen  Patrick  yet  ?" 

"  No,  my  lady  ;  he  has  not  been  equal  to  it.  I  have  been  try- 
ing to  persuade  him  to  go  to  Governor  Staunton  again,  just 
recovering  a  little  from  his  illness,  and  who  has  written  him  a  note 
begging  him  to  come,  with  his  own  trembling  hand  ;  but  he  can- 
not bring  himself  to  pass  the  place;  he  shudders  at  the  very 
thought.  I  wonder,  my  lady,  if  it  is  possible  for  a  man,  struck 
to  the  heart  as  he  is,  ever  to  recover  ?  Now,  if  he  were  a 
woman  one  might  hope  !" 

"  You  think  women  can  live  through  everything,  Bianca." 

"  Everything  but  one  thing,  madam,  and  that  is  ill-usage  from 
the  man  they  love.  That  kills  a  woman,  or  makes  a  stone  of  hoi, 
which  is  worse  than  death  itself." 

"  You  had  a  kind  husband,  Bianca,  I  have  been  told  ?" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVEBIE.  243 

"  Yes,  yes  indeed,  my  lady,  very  kind,  when  the  chemistry 
worked  right.  But  sometimes,  after  a  hard  day's  labor  over  the 
crucibles,  half  smothered  with  the  glass  mask  he  wore,  and  tired 
of  standing  all  the  tune,  even  Fabius  would  be  fretful.  But  I 
never  thwarted  him  then  ;  a  few  comforting  words  do  a  great 
deal  for  a  weary  man.  And  now,  my  lady,  since  you  have  paved 
the  way,  as  it  seems,  by  your  kindness  in  speaking  of  my  poor 
Fabius,  I  must  take  the  liberty  to  tell  you  my  dream  on  the  night, 
the  very  night  before  that  frightful  disaster,  and  what  seems  to 
me  to  have  been  my  warning  besides." 

Willing  to  hear  everything  that  bore  upon  the  fate  of  Lilian, 
perhaps  impressed,  in  spite  of  reason,  by  the  superstitious  awe  that 
seemed  to  pervade  the  household  in  connection  with  the  death  of 
its  mistress,  Lady  Edith  inclined  her  ear  patiently,  if  not  with  inte- 
rest, to  the  relation  of  Bianca's  vision  and  prophetic  intimations. 

"  I.  slept  soundly,  my  lady,  until  about  one  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, when  I  was  wakened  by  the  touch  of  cold  fingers  on  my  face. 
I  started  up  quite  terrified  ;  the  room  was  dark,  but  I  heard  dis- 
tinctly, in  the  far  corner,  that  little  dry  cough,  '  of  habit,'  as  Mrs. 
Bouverie  called  it,  that  belonged  to  Fabius,  like  a  part  of  himself, 
I  struck  a  match,  with  a  trembling  hand,  and  lit  my  candle.  I 
could  see  nothing.  So  after  thinking  and  praying  until  nearly 
daylight,  I  blew  it  out  again,  and  went  to  sleep  ;  and  then  I 
dreamed. 

"  It  seemed  to  me  that  Fabius  came  to  the  bedside,  wet  and 
shivering,  and  very  pale  ;  but  I  never  thought  for  a  moment  that 
he  was  dead.  I  had  forgotten  that  in  my  dream. 

"  '  Bianca,'  he  said,  '  I  want  some  dry  clothes.  I  have  been 
out  in  the  rain  so  long  that  I  am  drenched,  and  the  master  is 
waiting  for  me  to  light  the  crucibles.  Be  quick  !' 


244r  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEKIE. 

"  I  thought  I  tried  to  rise  to  serve  him,  but  something  seemed 
holding  me  down  to  the  bed,  that  I  could  not  conquer,  and  I  was 
unable  to  get  up.  I  could  only  lift  my  hands. 

"'Never  mind,'  he  said,  'I  see  how  it  is.  This  is  his  day. 
Let  no  one  stir  from  Bouverie  until  it  is  over.  Above  all,  keep 
Miss  Lilian  at  home,  and  let  her  wear  the  "  gnome  eye."  No 
one  can  master  that.  Let  her  always  wear  it  hereafter.' 

"  Just  then  the  spell  seemed  to  leave  me.  I  woke.  I  sat  up 
in  bed.  The  dawn  was  breaking  through  the  window  opposite 
me.  I  had  left  the  shutters  open,  and  there  was  nothing  between 
me  and  daybreak  bat  a  thin,  white  curtain — nothing  do  I  say  ? 
Oh,  madam !  I  was  wrong.  Relieved  against  the  window,  dis- 
tinct as  life  ever  showed  him  to  me,  between  the  transparent  cur- 
tain and  the  pane,  stood  my  husband,  or  his  wraith  rather.  Dis- 
tinct but  for  a  moment,  then  fading,  fading,  dying  away,  first  into 
smoke,  and  then  into  shadow,  until  he  totally  disappeared. 
These  were  my  warnings,  Lady  Edith." 

"  It  must  have  shocked  you  very  much,  even  to  be  able  to 
imagine  such  things,"  was  the  calm  rejoinder. 

"  Imagine  !  Oh,  Lady  Edith,  may  you  never  have  such  fan- 
cies. But  the  night  wanes.  Let  me  go  on,  I  want  to  tell  you, 
before  I  leave  you,  how  it  was  that  she  went  to  her  doom." 

Again  Lady  Edith  inclined  an  eager  attention.  She  hoped 
now  to  obtain,  after  so  much  that  was  useless  and  incredible,  the 
facts  of  the  case,  as  she  eould  expect  to  learn  them  from  no  one 
else,  or  rather  all  those  minute  details  of  action  that  preceded  the 
"  disaster,"  as  the  papers  had  portrayed  it. 

"  You  may  suppose,  Lady  Edith,  that  after  this  I  could  rest 
no  more.  I  dressed  myself  as  fast  as  I  was  able,  and,  after 
prayers,  I  felt  more  composed.  It  was  not  yet  sunrise,  when  I 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  245 

went  out  into  the  fresh  air.  I  could  still  see  the  morning  star. 
I  walked  out  to  the  fence  that  divides  the  lawn  from  the  stable- 
yard,  to  see  the  cows  milked.  Patrick  was  feeding  them  ;  Biddy 
had  the  pail. 

"  '  Why  isn't  Phelim  at  his  post  this  morning  ?'  I  asked — for  Pat 
was  the  gardener  you  know,  my  lady,  and  had  nothing  to  do  with 
this  department  rightfully. 

"  '  He's  had  a  chill/  said  Patrick,  '  and  the  fever's  upon  him 
mighty  hot  this  morning.  It  falls  upon  me  to-day  to  see  to  both 
cows  and  horses.' 

"Just  then  a  horseman  galloped  past  and  I  recognized  Gover- 
nor Staunton's  man. 

"  '  Don't  you  stop  ?'  cried  Patrick. 

"  '  No  ;  I  left  my  note  at  the  house,  Rose  took  it,  and  got  my 
answer.  I  am  wanted  at  home.  The  master  lies  ill  to-day.' 

"  I  knew  that  Governor  Staunton  had  been  ailing  for  a  week, 
and  that  our  doctor  thought  him  threatened  with  typhoid  fever. 
I  knew  he  must  be  much  worse  to  send  to  Bouverie,  for  his  regular 
physician  lived  at  Croften.  The  man  galloped  away,  and  I  went 
straight  to  Miss  Lilian. 

"  I  found  her  already  dressed  when  I  reached  her  chamber.  Her 
bonnet  and  mantle  were  lying  on  a  chair  beside  her,  and  she  held 
a  note  in  her  hand,  on  which  her  eyes  were  fixed,  musing-like. 

"  '  Give  me  some  breakfast,  Bianca,  as  soon  as  you  can,'  she 
said.  '  Don't  hurry  the  cook,  make  a  cup  of  tea,  and  a  bit  of 
toast,  and  boil  an  egg  yourself  by  the  dining-room  fire  for  Dr. 
Quintil  and  me,  for  we  should  lose  too,  much  time  to  wait  for 
Charity  ;  and  Rose,  go  at  once  with  this  note  to  the  doctor's 
room.  Tell  him,  I  shall  be  waiting  for  him  at  the  ireakfast- 
table.' 


246  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

" '  Bianca,'  she  continued,  'Governor  Staunton  is  quite  11-— 
delirious,  his  wife  fears,  and  as  he  calls  incessantly  for  us,  she 
writes  to  beg  that  we  will  come  to  him  at  once.' 

''  Here  Rose  came  back — '  Go  and  light  the  dining-room  fire,'  I 
said,  '  and  boil  the  water.  I  have  a  few  words  to  say  to  Miss 
Lilian  privately.  Time  enough  for  the  eggs  and  tea  when  I  get 
through.' 

"  So  Rose  delivered  her  message,  '  The  doctor  would  be  ready 
in  ten  minutes,'  and  went  to  do  my  bidding,  and  I  stood  up  quite 
agitated  before  Miss  Lilian,  to  plead  like  a  lawyer,  for  a  criminal 
at  the  bar;  to  plead — but  I  did  not  know  it  then — against  herself, 
for  her  own  precious  life.  I  tried  to  be  as  calm  as  possible  in  tho 
beginning,  and  spoke  carelessly,  as  was  best  with  her  in  all  cases^ 
for  her  courage  seemed  to  rise,  I  always  remarked,  and  her 
determination  to  do,  just  in  proportion  to  the  amount  of  a  diffi- 
culty, presented.  And  so  I  said  :  '  You  cannot  go  to-day,  Miss 
Lilian,  unless  you  take  horses,  for  Phelim  is  sick  in  bed  with  a 
chill,  and  there  is  no  one  to  drive  you." 

"  '  My  horse  is  lame,  you  know,'  she  answered,  '  and  I  can  ride 
no  other.  So  Patrick  will  have  to  drive  us,  Bianca.  We  will 
take  the  barouche.  Do  give  orders  for  me  to  that  effect.  Send 
James  to  tell  him  at  once  to  harness  the  horses.' 

"  '  There  is  no  hurry  about  your  visit,  Miss  Lilian,'  I  said  ; 
'  Typhoid  fever  is  a  slow  sickness — the  governor  will  be  no  worse 
to-morrow  than  he  is  to-day,  and  then  Phelim  can  drive  you.  He 
has  only  had  a  -chill,  and  will  be  better  by  morning.' 

I  know  she  thought  me  mighty  meddlesome,,  by  the  way  she 
looked,  though  she  said  nothing.  I  turned  to  go,  then  went 
back,  took  hold  of  her  hands  and  burst  out  a  crying.  She  seemed 
somewhat  shocked.  '  Bianca,  what  ails  you  ?'  she  asked,  a 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OK   BODVEBDfi.  247 

little  coldly,  I  thought.  My  behavior  must  have  seemed  very 
odd. 

"  '  Oh  !  Miss  Lilian,  dear,  don't  go  to-day,'  I  said,  as  soon  as  I 
was  able  to  speak.  '  I  have  feelings  about  you  leaving  this  house 
to-day,  that  I  can't  express.  I  have  had  such  a  strange  dream.' 

"  '  Don't  tell  it  to  me,  Bianca  !'  she  said,  raising  her  hand  hi  a 
sort  of  warning  way.  '  God  knows,  I  have  had  enough  of 
visions  lately.  I  will  suffer  them  to  govern  me  no  longer  ;  and 
you  too,dear  dame,  must  throw  off  as  much  as  you  can  the  super- 
stition I  have  helped  to  fasten  on  you." 

" '  Just  this  once,  Miss  Lilian,  dear  ;  let  me  entreat  you  to  stay, 
for  my  sake.' 

She  sat  down  quite  helplessly  for  a  few  minutes.  '  I  would  do 
a  great  deal  more  than  that  for  your  sake,  you  well  know,  if  it 
were  reasonable  ;  but  what  should  I  gain  by  waiting  ?  Pat  is  a 
good  driver,  Dr.  Quintilian  will  be  with  me.  The  horses  are 
reliable.  What  do  you  apprehend,  Bianca  ?  Why,  I  can  drive 
myself,  if  needs  be.' 

"  '  There  is  a  running  stream  in  the  way,  which  you  have  to 
cross.  I  have  had  a  warning  about  water,  it  seemed  to  me.' 

"  '  The  road  is  changed  since  the  railroad  has  been  finished/ 
she  said.  '  We  do  not  cross  the  stream  any  longer ;  besides,  I 
am  no  witch,'  she  added,  laughing, '  to  fear  running  water ;  and 
after  all,  beh'eve  me,  fate  is  fate,  dear  dame,  elude  it  as  we  may.' 

"  '  Then  grant  me  one  favor :  if  you  will  go,  wear  your  gnome- 
eye  ring.' 

"  What  an  idea  !  are  you  crazy,  dear  dame  ?  Why  it  is  big 
enough  for  an  elephant's  toe.  How  coull  1  keep  it  on  my  little 
hands  ?'  and  she  extended  them  laughingly. 

"  '  Then  tie  it  on  your  bracelet,'  I  persisted.     '  My  Lilian,  mj 


248  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE. 

darling,  you  shall  not  go  without  it.'  I  clasped  her  in  my  arms ; 
I  could  not  help  it,  Lady  Edith,  it  was  for  the  last  time.  All 
ceremony  seemed  broken  down  at  that  moment,  by  the  strong 
feeling  stirring  me  like  a  storm.  She  said  no  word,  but  I  saw 
she  was  much  affected.  As  soon  as  I  withdrew  my  arms,  she 
went  upstairs  for  her  '  gnome  eye,'  and  tied  it  to  her  watch 
guard,  and  there  it  will  ever  remain. 

"  When  she  was  ready  to  go  she  said  to  me,  as  if  she  owed  me 
some  apology  for  opposing  my  wishes: 

"  '  It  seems  to  me,  dear  dame,  a  simple  duty  to  obey  the  call 
of  an  ill  neighbor;  one,  too,  to  whom  we  owe  so  much,  so  much 
more  than  the  world  knows  of.  I  feel  that  I  would  lay  down 
my  life  for  Governor  Staunton  were  it  needful,  and  if  the  past 
could  be  thus  wiped  out,  atoned  for,  Bianca.' 

"  The  words  seemed  to  choke  her.  I  knew  what  she  alluded  to, 
though  she  was  not  conscious  that  I  did.  I  had  seen  her  readihg 
her  grandmother's  diary  in  great  anguish  of  mind,  many  times  since 
Bishop  Clare's  death — when  it  fell  into  her  hands,  my  lady ;  I  knew 
the  books  very  well  by  sight,  from  the  first,  bound  in  gold  and  pur- 
ple velvet,  to  the  Last,  in  black  leather  clasped  with  steel,  just  like 
Mrs.  Bouverie's  own  life,  splendid  in  the  beginning,  sorrowful  at 
the  close,  Lady  Edith.  And  in  the  last  month  I  had  seen  her 
busy,  pen  in  hand,  marking  and  transcribing  passages  from  these 
books,  as  if  she  wished  to  print  them  on  her  brain.  Sometimes  I 
thought  to  ask  her  to  read  portions  to  me;  but  again  I  thought 
it  best  that  she  should  suppose  me  ignorant  of  much  that  I  knew 
they  must  contain,  if  possible  for  her  to  suppose  so.  We  were 
happier  as  we  were,  never  speaking  about  those  terrible  things  ; 
never  coming  to  any  clearer  understanding  about  the  dark  years 
that  were  gone." 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  249 

The  rest  of  this  sad  story  may  be  told  with  more  brevity,  and 
equal  fidelity,  by  a  less  digressive  narrator. 

The  facts  were  simply  these  : 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Quintilian  had  set  out  to  "  Grosvenor,"  Governor 
Staunton's  country  residence,  at  which  place  he  lay  ill,  at  about 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  After  passing  the  day  beside  him, 
finding  that  she  could  be  of  no  immediate  use,  Mrs.  Quintilian 
prepared  to  return  to  Bouverie  alone.  At  the  urgent  request  of 
Mrs.  Staunton,  Dr.  Quintil  agreed  to  watch  that  night  by  her 
husband,  then  nearing  the  crisis  of  rapid  typhus  fever.  Mr. 
Clavering  had  offered  to  accompany  Lilian  home,  but  had  been 
kindly  yet  steadily  refused  this  privilege,  and  it  was  without  the 
least  anxiety  on  the  part  of  any  one,  that  she  set  out  about  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  to  return  to  Bouverie,  driven  as  before 
by  Patrick  McCormick.  Indeed,  Mrs.  Quintilian  herself  under- 
stood the  management  of  horses  extremely  well,  and  had  driven 
frequently  in  that  very  equipage,  to  the  church  of  Bouverie,  when 
Dr.  Quintil  preferred  to  walk,  and  precede  her,  and  servants  were 
at  liberty  for  the  day.  v 

The  horses,  though  spirited,  were  kindly,  and  accustomed  to 
Pat,  who  would  still  steal  a  moment  occasionally  from  his  garden, 
to  aid  in  the  stable  duties,  faithful  to  his  old  vocation  of  hostler. 
The  carriage  way,  after  keeping  the  main  road  steadily  for  a  mile, 
diverged  into  a  large  wooded  pasture  belonging  to  the  Dugannes, 
through  which  right  of  passage  was  granted  to  the  neighborhood. 
In  about  half  an  hour  after  leaving  Grosvenor,  the  barouche 
emerged  from  this  woodland— the  gate  of  which  Pat  got  down  to 
unfasten — into  the  open  road. 

"Do  not  shut  the  gate,  Pat,"  saidT" Lilian,  "I  hear  the  train 
roming,  our  best  way  is  to  back  into  the  woods  again." 


250  THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVERIE. 

He  climbed  up  and  seized  the  reins  as  if  in  haste  to  obey  her. 
It  was  impossible  to  see  the  train  or  to  judge  correctly  cf  its  dis- 
tance, owing  to  the  interposing  wood,  which  obstructed  both  ear 
and  eye.  The  horses,  accustomed  to  meet  it  at  the  depot,  near 
Bouverie,  were  not  afraid  of  it,  and  their  docility  in  "  backing" 
from  it  had  been  proved  before. 

The  carriage  stood  safely  enough  on  a  slope  of  green  sward, 
just  above  the  road.  Had  Patrick,  even  in  disobeying  the  more 
cautious  order  of  his  mistress,  been  content  to  remain  quiet,  all 
might  have  gone  well.  But  just  as  he  had  resumed  his  reins  the 
train  swept  in  sight  around  the  curve,  not  more  than  its  own 
length  distant  from  the  gate. 

Simultaneously  with  its  appearance  the  mad  idea  seized  Patrick 
that  he  could  cross  the  track  before  it  reached  him.  He  lashed 
his  horses  furiously.  They  sprang  forward,  and  then  stopped  with 
their  forefeet  just  grazing  the  iron  rail  ( the  hoof-prints  were  there 
afterward  as  proof  of  this)  quivering  with  terror. 

All  this  was  instantaneous.  Lilian  sprang  to  her  feet,  and 
seizing  the  reins  from  Patrick,  drew  them  to  their  haunches, 
assisted  by  him,  perhaps,  and  turned  their  faces  aside  just  as  the 
engine  reached  them. 

The  express  shot  by  like  an  arrow.     They  were  saved. 

None  that  saw  can  ever  forget  that  group — that  glimpse  of 
tei-ror  !  Women  shrieked  and  fainted,  men  powerless  to  aid, 
struck  their  brows,  half-maddened  by  the  sight,  and  reeled  on  their 
seats  like  drunkards,  or  broke  forth  in  exclamations  of  prayer,  and 
imprecation,  and  frenzy 

One  calmer  than  most  has  said,  that  no  nightmare  of  Fuseli's 
painting  was  ever  half  so  frightful  as  the  drawn,  upturned  faces  of 
the  horses,  poised  as  these  were  in  extremest  agony,  as  like  a 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  251 

ghastly  dream  they  flashed  by  the  window  of  the  whirling  car- 
no  goblin  page  of  Leslie's  hand,  with  his  suggested  wail  of,  ' '  Lost, 
Lost,  Lost  !"  so  wild,  so  hideous  as  the  crouching  figure  of  the 
driver  !  But  the  lady,  what  of  her  ? 

Why  cannot  words  do  the  work  of  light,  and  photograph  her 
to  the  intellect  as  she  stood  there,  grappling  with  her  fate,  as 
t^xat  brief  instant  fixed  her  forever  on  every  beholding  eye  and 
sentient  brain  ? 

The  impression  was  electric,  of  course.  Description  fails  to  con- 
vey it,  in  any  shape.  Imagination  even  is  at  fault  here — (Jod's 
holy  light  alone  can  paint  such  pictures  on  its  chosen  surface,  the 
wondrous  human  eye. 

Yet,  with  what  words  I  have,  let  me  endeavor  to  portray  her 
as  pale,  slender,  statue-like,  erect  ;  her  small  hands  straining  at 
every  nerve  and  muscle  of  her  frame  ;  her  large  blue  eyes, 
glaring  like  dying  stars;  her  lips  apart,  white,  horror-frozen;  her 
nostrils  narrowed  to  a  line  ;  her  face  sharpened  with  its  incredu- 
lous intensity — she  stood,  an  image  of  beauty  and  terror,  of 
courage  and  despair  !  But  what  of  it  at  last  ?  The  fiery  trial 
was  but  of  one  moment's  duration.  The  cars  had  passed  without 
touching  even  the  manes  of  the  horses,  that  waved  beneath  the 
very  faces  of  the  spectators.  They  were  saved  ! 

Alas,  the  end  was  not  yet !  As  the  last  car  shot  by,  and  the 
strength  of  hand  and  steed  relaxed,  the  horses  came  to  their 
feet  heavily,  swerved  suddenly,  and  threw  the  carriage  over  on 
the  rail,  breaking  away  as  they  did  so  from  every  impediment  of 
pole  and  harness,  and  plunging  madly  back  again  into  the  woods. 

The  cry  of  joyful  exultation  had  scarcely  died  away  in  the 
cars  when  the  conductor  stopped  the  train. 

The  great  chord  of  common  brotherhood  had  been  struck  j 
27 


252  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVEKIE. 

hundreds  leaped  out  to  return  to  the  scene  of  trial — not  one  of 
these,  perhaps,  in  the  strong  reaction  of  feeling  that  had  taken 
place,  surmised  the  possible  truth. 

Strong  men  were  there,  women,  little  children,  all  moved  by 
generous  sympathy,  and  most  of  them  excited  to  grateful  tears. 
It  was  as  if  every  one  had  some  great  individual  cause  of  thanks- 
giving to  God.  There  was  a  murmur,  then  a  great  silence  ! 
Oh,  it  was  pitiful !  The  truth  I  The  driver  was  unhurt — the 
lady  only  had  been  killed. 

You  knew  this  all  the  time  ?  You  knew  that  she  would  die  ? 
Of  course  you  did — it  was  my  intention  that  you  should  know  it, 
from  the  tune  the  tree  fell,  from  the  tune  the  flame  flitted  around 
the  Rotunda,  and  the  thrilling  voice  thrice  called  her  name,  from 
the  time  the  majestic  picture  fell  scorched  to  cinders  from  the 
wall,  struck  by  the  fire  of  heaven. 

She  knew  it  too,  you  may  be  sure,  for  she  had  fine  instincts  ; 
or  rather,  she  felt  it  whispering  low  in  her  nature,  that  prophetic 
voice  of  doom,  and  saw,  as  through  a  glass  darkly,  the  sphere  of 
her  fate  rolling  on,  gathering  as  it  went,  the  power  to  crush  her 
in  the  end. 

So  you  see  the  great  race  (as  they  considered  it)  of  Bouverie 
that  came  in  with  the  Norman  pirates,  and  crossed  hands  with  a 
Charlatan,  was  extinct  at  last !  Some  self-destroying  element 
seemed  infused  in  their  very  veins — some  discord  that  jangled  all 
the  finer  chords  of  life. 

Do  you  remember  the  Indian  Princess  in  the  Arabian  Nights, 
who  fought  with  Genii  in  the  air  with  swords  of  flame,  and  con- 
quered them  at  last,  and  fell  to  the  earth  herself  in  a  shower  of 
luminous  ashes  at  the  end  ?  I  tl  ink  she  must  have  been  the  pro- 
genitor of  tho  Bouvories,  and  that  the  magical  Thug  blood 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTTYEBIE.  253 

lingered  in  their  veins.  I  think  they  inherited  from  her  the 
dominant  yet  self-destroying  element. 

Yon  do  not  feel  that  this  applies  to  Lilian  ?  No,  no,  indeed  ; 
nor  do  I !  I  never  meant  it  should.  She  was  the  Iphigenia  of 
her  race,  and  died  at  Aulis,  not  to  propitiate  winds,  but  angry, 
unappeased  and  restless  manes,  perhaps.  She  was  the  sacrificial 
lamb  bound  from  the  first,  it  may  be,  to  the  horns  of  the 
altar. 

The  most  lovely  rose  I  ever  saw  sprang  from  a  felon's  grave—- 
the most  snowy  lily  from  a  pond  of  stagnant  water — the  sweetest 
grapes  from  the  compound  of  inodorous  matter  and  ashes,  and 
strips  of  moldy  leather  and  poisonous,  broken  glass  and  bones, 
a  skillful  hand  had  made.  These  things  are  types  of  her. 

The  poor  wretch  who  was  the  immediate  cause  of  her  destruc- 
tion persisted  in  declaring  that  he  saw  his  "dame"  standing  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  road,  beckoning  to  him  when  he  aimed  to 
plunge  across  the  track  of  the  inexorable  train. 

It  was  a  spiteful  thing  even  for  a  ghost  to  do,  but  after  all 
allowances  must  be  made  for  Patrick's  fanciful  mendacity,  so  dar- 
ing on  occasions  as  to  be  almost  sublime.  After  Mrs.  Quintilian's 
death,  there  was  no  more  talk  of  spirits  at  Bouverie's.  They 
were  satisfied,  probably,  with  the  result  of  their  visitations,  or 
perhaps  her  presence  among  them  sanctified  their  sins  and  quieted 
their  roving  propensities  of  being. 

These  are  all  speculations  of  course,  and  no  offence  is  meant 
to  priest  or  layman,  or  spiritual  medium.  It  is  a  beautiful 
thought,  after  all,  to  me,  that  a  mortal  may  become  so  pure  as  to 
be  permitted  to  assist  in  the  great  work  of  atonement. 

I  have  never  seen  a  fairer  corpse  than  Mrs.  Quintilian  made. 
I  looked  at  her  very  earnestly  as  she  lay  in  her  coffin  (as  soon  as 


I  could  clear  my  eyes  of  their  blinding  tears),  with  some  view  to 
this  description. 

Her  grave  clothos  were  the  same  she  wore  habitually  in  life— 
the  material  black  silk — soft  and  folded  richly  about  her  form, 
finished  with  ruffles  of  fine  lace  around  her  snowy  throat  and 
waxen  hands.  The  hair  was  braided  back  just  as  she  always 
wore  it,  except  where  one  great  curl  had  broken  away  from 
Bianca's  trembling  fingers,  and  dropped  across  her  motionless 
bosom.  It  was  left  there  by  the  entreaty  of  "  little  Rose,"  until 
Mr.  Clavering  came  and  cut  it  away. 

Dr.  Quintilian  could  think  of  nothing  of  the  kind,  then.  He 
was  down  upon  his  face  among  the  ashes. 

You  have  seen  that  sweet  smile  that  comes  to  some  faces  after 
a  few  hours'  acquaintance  with  death,  as  if  its  conditions  had 
been  explained  at  last  and  accepted  with  loving  confidence  ? 
This  rested  early,  and  late,  on  hers. 

You  never  would  have  supposed  she  had  died  a  death  of  pain 
or  violence — you  never  would  have  believed  her  dead  at  all — 
only  sleeping  and  dreaming  pleasantly.  The  blow  that  had 
killed  her  was  hidden  by  her  sweeping  hair  ;  I  mean,  of  course, 
the  impression  of  the  blow.  A  mere  dent,  not  biggei  than  a 
child's  marble  might  have  made,  if  pressed  in  wax,  and  bni  little 
discolored,  showed  where  the  left  temple  had  been  fractured,  and 
how  the  great  soul  had  been  set  free — suddenly,  triumphantly, 
perhaps — no  mortal  man  can  know. 

Could  Bianca  have  been  mistaken  when  she  thought  she  dis- 
covered in  the  centre  of  this  cavity  the  impression  of  the  "  gnome 
eye  "  diamond  and  the  double-headed  eagles  that  supported  it  ? 
Could  the  adamantine  jewel  have  done  its  part  in  driving  home 
the  bolt  of  fate,  and  sealing  its  decree,  or  was  it  a  mere  fancy  ? 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  255 

In  her  pale  fingers  she  held  lightly  a  Cape  Jasmin  flower, 
with  a  few  surrounding  leaves.  It  was  a  strange  coincidence  that 
"  little  Rose  "  should  have  selected  this  flower  from  the  green- 
house above  all  others,  for  such  a  purpose,  for  Mr.  Clavering  had 
given  her  just  such  a  one  when  they  parted  at  the  carriage  steps 
at  Grosvenor.  Some  conversation  had  preceded  this,  of  course 
irrelevant  here,  even  if  known  to  the  writer.  He  had  said  finally, 
however,  as  he  avowed  later — 

"  If  you  hold  this  gardenia  in  your  hand  when  I  come  to  Bou- 
verie  I  shall  believe  that  I  am  welcome.  I  shall  be  with  you  in 
two  days." 

Alas  !  he  came  sooner  than  he  had  promised,  and  never  knew, 
probably,  that  this  was  not  the  same  flower  he  had  given  her 
(that  flower  trampled  hours  before  to  clay  by  the  feet  of  the 
throng  on  the  track,  as  they  gathered  around  the  beautiful  dead 
lady),  or  that  it  was  only  because  poor  "little  Rose"  knew  how 
she  loved  them  above  all  other  blossoms,  that  she  had  searched 
the  greenhouse  for  a  Cape  Jasmin  to  place  in  her  nerveless 
hand.  It  was  a  touching  incident,  yet  a  crushing  mockery,  too, 
if  it  be  well  considered. 

She  held  the  gardenia  in  her  icy  fingers  now,  as  he  had  re- 
quested her  to  do,  never  more  to  be  relinquished  until  it  dropped 
to  pieces  in  her  coffin.  She  seemed  to  extend  to  him  the  signal 
of  welcome  he  had  craved  ;  and  yet,  despite  this  token,  he  felt 
that  his  fate  remained  what  his  Maker  had  sealed  it  to  him  from 
the  beginning — 

DESOLATION  ! 


BOOK  NINTH. 


" '  I  shuddered  at  the  sight,' 
B*ld  Margaret, '  for  I  knew  It  was  his  hand 
That  placed  it  there.' " 

WORDSWORTH  {The  Wanderer, 

"  I'll  keep  this  secret, 
As  warily  as  those  that  deal  in  poison 
Keep  poison  from  their  children." 

WEBSTKE  (jfruchess  ofMalfi). 

"  'Tis  in  my  memory  locked, 
And  you  yourself  shall  keep  the  key  of  it." 

HAMLBT. 

"  Oh !  thou  dead 

And  everlasting  witness — whose  unshrinking 
Blood  darkens  earth  and  heaven ! — what  now  thou  art 
I  know  not ;  but  if  thou  seest  what  I  am, 
I  think  thou  wilt  forgive  him — whom  his  God 
Can  ne'er  forgive,  nor  his  own  soul. 

Farewell !" 

BYRON'S  Cai*. 


BOOK     NINTH. 


SOME   PASSAGES   FROM   THE 

DIARY    OP    CAMILLA    BOTJVBRIE. 

Jvmt  1809. 

MY  husband  has  given  me  a  beautifully  bound  book  to-day, 
headed  with  a  learned  sentence  of  Dr.  Johnson's.  He  desires  me 
to  keep  a  diary  on  its  blank  pages,  and  to  confide  all  my  secrets 
to  its  bosom.  He  does  this,  he  says,  to  prevent  my  forming 
female  intimacies,  the  bane  of  married  women,  and  to  limit  my 
confessions  to  Bishop  Clare.  He  says  I  must  write  down  daily, 
if  possible,  everything  I  feel,  and  think,  and  know  ;  and  close  my 
lips  about  details  of  my  private  life  against  all  the  world — and  I 
have  promised  to  obey  him.  He  in  turn  has  promised  me  never 
to  read  one  syllable  in  my  book  without  my  permission,  even 
should  he  find  it  lying  open  on  my  table,  ever  so  invitingly,  with 
the  ink  wet ;  and  I  know  he  will  adhere  strictly  to  his  word,  for 
Mister  Bouverie  is  the  soul  of  honor — the  truest  gentleman. 

I  am  young  to  be  married,  only  sixteen  ;  yet  I  feel  quite  at 
home  in  my  new  vocation.  Motherless  girls  grow  considerate  so 
early,  because  there  are  none  to  consider  for  them. 

There  were  circumstances,  too,  that  made  it  better  for  me  to  be 
married.  Frederick  false  to  me  !  Uncle  Bouverie  dead  (so  sud- 
denly), and  I,  all  alone  in  that  great  gloomy  house  with  Erastus, 

M 


260  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

and  with  scarcely  a  friend  or  relation,  that  I  know  of,  in  the 
world  ! 

When  the  lawyer  told  me  the  domain  was  mine  I  was  half  in- 
credulous at  first.  I  always  thought  Uncle  Bouverie  would  leave 
it  with  the  rest  of  his  estate  to  his  own  nephew — and  not  to  his 
wife's  niece.  I  felt  ashamed  to  take  it.  It  did  not  seem  morally 
mine  ;  besides,  my  little  income,  I  knew,  would  only  have  kept 
me  alive  in  one  corner  of  it.  He  thought  to  the  last,  though,  I 
would  marry  Frederick.  What  a  wretched  time  it  was  to  be  sure  I 
Snow  lying  deep  on  the  ground,  Uncle  Bouverie  in  his  grave — all 
the  servants  gone  except  Dame  McCormick  and  Bianea,  and  Aunt 
Purness  ;  my  own  spirits  much  depressed — and  Erastus,  writing, 
writing  all  day  long  in  the  library,  and  never  speaking  to  me  at  all, 
except  at  meals.  I  would  have  been  glad  to  have  had  even  Eliza 
Jones  for  company ;  but  after  making  up  my  mourning,  she  went 
away  to  sew  for  Mrs.  Staunton.  I  had  no  idea  we  owed  her  half 
so  much !  I  saw  Mister  Bouverie  pay  her  two  hundred  dollars  one 
morning  in  the  breakfast-room,  the  morning  before  she  left  Bou- 
verie, and  it  seemed  to  me  from  what  passed,  that  she  wanted  more. 

But  I  did  not  hear  distinctly  what  was  said  ;  I  think  she  over- 
charged us  greatly,  or  else  there  were  unsettled  wages  of  long  stand- 
ing. It  is  better  to  be  charitable,  so  I  will  try  to  believe  the  latter. 

It  was  in  March  that  Bianea  said  to  me,  about  six  weeks  after 
Uncle  Bouverie's  death  : 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Miss  Camilla  ?  You  cannot  live 
here  any  longer  all  alone,  with  Mister  Erastus  ;  people  will  talk. 
You  had  better  go  to  boarding-school  for  a  few  years." 

"  Talk,  about  what,  Bianea  ?"  I  asked.  "  Oh,  I  know  ;"  I 
said,  flushing  up  suddenly.  "  I  know  what  you  mean  now."  I 
saw  it  in  the  expression  of  her  eye,  I  believe. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD  OF   BOTTFEEIE.  261 

"  Do  you  think  any  one  could  be  so  base  and  cruel  as  to  try  tc 
injure  me  ?"  I  added.  "Bishop  Clare  will  be  here  soon,  however; 
he  is  my  guardian,  you  know,  and  he  shall  decide." 

"  He  ought  to  be  here  now,"  she  said.  "  It  is  quite  tune  he 
were  coming  back,  and  if  he  stays  away  much  longer  you  must 
write  to  him.  I  am  older  than  you,  Miss  Camilla,  and  ever  since 
Felix  behaved  as  he  did,  I  have  been  up  to  men  and  their  ways." 

I  knew  that  her  lover  had  abandoned  her,  and  thought  it 

natural  she  should  be  bitter  ;  yet  her  speech  sounded  hard  and 

%  . 
coarse  to  me,-  impertinent  even. 

"  Erastus  Bouverie  is  the  soul  of  honor,"  I  said,  a  little  indig- 
nantly ;  "he  would  never  harm  me,  even  in  thought  ;  besides, 
does  he  notice  me,  Bianca,  any  more  than  the  tortoise-shell  cat, 
or  uncle's  macaw  ?  He  goes  and  comes  like  a  shadow — his  heart 
is  in  his  books  and  writings.  Do  you  think  an  elegant,  dis- 
tinguished man  like  him  would  look  at  a  little,  obscure  country 
girl  for  a  wife  ?  And  what  else,  Bianca,  would  he  or  any  other 
man  dare  to  think  of,  in  my  case  ?" 

I  began  to  cry,  she  seemed  annoyed  ;  but  she  persisted  that  I 
ought  to  go  to  school. 

"  I  do  not  want  to  go  to  school,  Bianca,"  I  said,  through  my 
Vears.  "  I  have  no  taste  for  learning,  I  never  had." 

"Nor  shall  you  go,  Camilla,"  said  Mr.  Bouverie,  stepping 
quickly  into  the  room  ;  "not  at  least  if  I  can  help  it  ;"  and 
placing  his  arm  around  me,  he  drew  me  tenderly  to  his  breast- 
on,  now  I  trembled  !  It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  touched 
more  than  the  tips  of  my  fingers,  or  shown  me  even  common 
attention. 

"  Stay  at  home  and  be  my  own  sweet  little  wife,  and  I  will  be 
your  schoolmaster  !" 


262  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

Then  he  kissed  my  forehead,  and  from  that  time  I  loved  him. 
I  had  never  thought  of  such  a  thing  before — nor  had  he  probably; 
but  on  overhearing  Bianca,  all  the  forlornness  of  my  situation  had 
pressed  upon  him,  and  it  was  a  part  of  his  gracious  charity  to 
inarry  me — his  noble  generosity  I 

All  regret  for  Frederick  and  his  treachery  vanished  from  that 
time,  and  I  was  perfectly  happy — so  we  were  married  in  May — 
and  this  is  my  sixteenth  birth-day,  the  first  of  June  ;  Bishop 
Clare  has  gone  to  Carolina. 


I  wish  I  could  feel  more  real  sorrow  for  Uncle  Bouverie.  I 
reproach  myself  all  the  time  for  levity  and  hardness  of  heart.  I 
was  the  only  creature  he  loved,  except  his  wife,  to  whom  he  had 
been  devoted.  He  was  kind,  too,  to  my  dear  mother  as  long  as 
she  lived,  and  to  little  beautiful  golden-haired  brother  Charlie. 
For  these  things  I  tried  to  love  him  ;  but  Bishop  Clare  knows 
how  hard  I  found  the  struggle  1  There  was  something  about  him 
that  terrified,  that  repelled  me.  He  was  so  harsh,  so  forbidding, 
so  hideous  too  ! 

I  know  it  was  sinful  to  care  for  this  ;  but  that  bristling  hair, 
that  sharp,  terrible  eye — those  long  pointed  hooking  fingers,  with 
which  the  servants  say,  he  used  to  extract  the  guinea-worm, 
winding  it  out  in  spools  like  a  skein  of  yellow  silk,  from  the  legs 
of  slaves,  when  he  bought  them  on  the  African  coast — all  these 
repelled  me. 

Hush  !  this  is  only  a  whisper ;  but  it  chilled  my  marrow 
when  I  heard  it.  The  family  pride  would  recoil  from  the  possi- 
bility of  a  "  slave-trader"  among  them. 

Black  and  terrible  name  that  all  abl  or  !     Besides,  he  never 


I 

THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  263 

would  be  served  by  negroes  —  he  seemed  to  loathe  them.  Would 
not  this  in  itself  almost  disprove  the  accusation  brought  against 
him  ?  It  was  only  because  Aunt  Furness  was  my  mother's 
favorite  servant,  that  he  would  suffer  me  to  have  her  brought 
here,  when  she  had  her  long  and  dangerous  illness.  But  he  found 
her  a  great  comfort  in  his  kitchen,  when  Polly  McCormick  had 
other  duties  to  perform. 

Erastus  inherits  this  prejudice,  the  only  inheritance,  I  hope, 
that  he  receives  from  Uncle  Bouverie  personally.  What  a  con 
trast  there  was,  to  be  sure,  between  them  !  Mr.  Bouverie's  father, 
a  younger  son,  who  died  early,  was  said  to  have  been  very  hand- 
some, as  well  as  others  of  the  name  in  England  —  one  of  these  was 
a  Madam  Ambrose,  I  believe. 

I  hope  he  will  take  me  there  after  a  while.  I  would  so  love  to 
travel.  How  would  I  appear  among  all  those  grand  people  ? 
Partial  friends  tell  me  that  I  am  handsome  ;  he  says  beautiful,  in 
his  blind  admiration  of  his  wife. 

1  think,  and  so  declares  my  mirror,  well-looking,  to  say  the  very 
least.  Self-educated,  though  !  almost  ignorant  !  except  of  French 
and  music,  all  Miss  La  Serre  understood  1  Uncle  Bouverie  never 
sent  me  to  school  as  he  should  have  done,  I  think,  and  that  girl 
was  intolerable  in  the  house.  I  learned  more  at  General  Staun- 
ton's  than  anywhere  else,  from  the  elegant  conversation  at  his 
tyble.  But  this  is  a  history  I  am  writing,  not  a  diary.  So  much 
for  a  beginning  ! 


My  husband  has  brought  home  at  last  his  little  ward,  and  re- 
ccmmended  him  to  my  kindness.  The  holidays  have  commenced, 
and  I  shall  have  him  all  to  myself  until  the  first  of  September. 


264:  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVERIE. 

"  Be  kind  to  him  if  you  can,  Camilla,  and  see  that  he  wears 
clean  linen  and  learns  his  lessons,  for  my  sake,"  Mr.  Bonverie 
said,  before  he  brought  him  into  my  chamber,  kissing  me  fondly 
as  he  spoke.  "  But,  dearest,  he  is  a  morose  creature — he  will 
never  interest  you,  I  know." 

"  Oh,  of  course,  I  will  be  kind  to  him,  my  Erastus,"  I  replied ; 
"  not  only  for  your  sake,  but  his  own,  and  even  mine  ;  for,  is  he 
not,  like  me,  an  orphan,  and  alone  ?  Yet  alone  with  such  a 
difference,  a  helpless  little  one,  with  no  great  strong  arm  of  love 
to  shelter  him." 

He  smiled,  and  withdrawing  a  moment,  returned  leading  in  the 
child,  who  hung  back  from  his  hand  unwillingly,  and  seemed  dis- 
concerted when  I  kissed  him.  He  does  seem  an  odd,  reserved 
little  fehow  I  Paul  is  between  eight  and  nine  years,  well  grown 
for  his  age,  a  large,  not  unhandsome  child  ;  but  certainly  not 
attractive.  He  has  been  motherless  so  long  that  he  has  learned 
to  be  reserved  and  cautious  like  an  old  man.  He  never  laughs  or 
chatters  idly  as  most  children  do  of  his  age  ;  but  stares  at  every- 
thing until  his  eyes  haunt  one.  His  gravity  is  almost  a  reproval 
to  my  nonsensical  gaiety.  We  have  been  looking  over  his  ward- 
robe together.  It  is  literally  a  "  thing  of  shreds  and  tatters,"  with 
the  exception  of  the  decent  suit  he  wears  ;  such  an  array  of  odd 
socks,  and  little  sleeveless  shirts,  all  slit  and  rent  in  every  direction, 
I  never  saw  before.  Bianca  held  up  her  hands  in  holy  horror,  but. I 
gave  way  to  peal  after  peal  of  laughter,  much  to  his  discomfiture. 

"  Never  mind,  Paul,"  I  said,  "  we  shall  soon  have  everything 
set  to  rights,  and  I  will  make  you  a  set  of  shirts  with  my  own 
hands,  and  ruffle  the  collars." 

His  face  cleared  up  immediately,  and  he  came  behind  me,  and 
put  his  hand  timidly  on  my  shoulder,  leaning  over. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          265 

"  I  shall  like  them  all  the  better  for  that,"  he  said  low,  "  you 
mast  get  me  some  handkerchiefs,  too,  when  Mr.  Bouverie  has 
some  money  of  mine  again  ;  some  handkerchiefs  with  tigers  on 
them  like  Joe  Gale's." 

I  am  glad  ho  knows  he  is  independent ;  it  will  make  him  so 
much  happier.  Poor  little  motherless  fellow  1  he  has  never  known 
common  comfort,  that  is  plain  ;  but  he  is  spoken  of  as  a  "  very 
learned  r-.hild,"  as  one  might  say,  a  "  learned  pig,"  a  sort  of  phe- 
nomeuoi*,  and  is  quite  a  Greek  scholar  already. 


"  Oh,  Pa*!/'  I  saAJ  10  him  a  few  days  ago,  as  he  stood  staring 
at  me  silently  while^  I  played  cup  and  ball,  until  his  observation 
became  a  positive  annoyance,  "  I  wish  you  knew  how  to  play  I  I 
wish  you  were  even  a  bad  child,  I  would  love  you  a  thousand 
times  better,  I  am  sure  1"  I  spoke  in  a  tone  of  absolute  fretfulness, 
£  am  afraid. 

"  Then  I  will  try  to  be  bad,"  he  said,  demurely  ;  "  I  want  you 
to  like  me,  Camilla."  Terrified  at  the  possible  consequences  of 
this  foolish  speech,  I  hastily  caught  him  around  the  neck,  and 
tried  at  once  to  remove  the  impression  I  had  created. 

"  No  indeed,  Paul,"  I  cried,  "  I  was  only  talking  wildly  ;  I  do 
like  you  just  as  you  are,  because  you  are  so  good,  so  docile,  so 
little  troublesome  ;  and  if  you  continue  to  be  a  dear  boy,  I  shall 
love  you  better  and  better  every  day." 

"  You  remind  me,"  he  said,  quietly  disengaging  himself  from 
iny  arms,  and  standing  before  me  with  his  hands  behind  him  like 
a  philosopher  cut  short,  "  of  one  of  JEsop's  fables  I  have  been 
translating  lately,  about  a  traveller  and  a  satyr  ;  would  you  like 
to  hear  it,  Camilla  ?"  On  receiving  my  affirmative  answer,  ho 


2bb  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.         , 

related  to  me  in  very  oracular  style  the  famous  "  blow  hot"  and 
"  blow  cold"  story  that  I  had  read  myself  a  dozen  times  in  my 
childhood  ;  but  I  confess  without  an  application  always. 

"  Now  you  must  be  one  thing  or  the  other  to  me,  Camilla," 
he  said,  "  from  the  word  '  go,'  both  you  can  never  be." 

His  cheek  flushed  slightly,  he  was  evidently  in  thorough  earnest, 
and  I  own  I  was  almost  frightened  at  the  weird  wisdom  of  this 
speech  ;  but  I  could  find  no  better  answer  than  putting  back  his 
Boft,  bushy  hair  and  kissing  his  large,  clear  forehead.  This 
seemed  to  satisfy  him  perfectly  of  my  intentions. 


Another  queer  scene  with  little  Paul,  whose  quaint  ways 
divert  and  mystify  me  all  the  tune.  During  Mr.  Bouverie's 
absence  of  a  week,  I  have  nothing  else  to  amuse  me  nor  to  write 
about.  He  has  called  me  familiarly  "  Camilla"  until  now  ;  but 
fearing  that  Mr.  Bouverie  might  not  like  the  appellation,  or 
rather  that  it  might  make  me  appear  too  childish  in  his  sight,  I 
said  to  him  recently  : 

"  Paul,  you  are  a  little  fellow,  and  I  am  your  guardian's  wife. 
Don't  you  think  it  would  sound  better  if  you  were  to  add  a  han- 
dle to  my  name,  as  common  folks  say  ?  Call  me  '  Cousin 
Camilla'  or  'Aunt  Camilla,'  whichever  you  prefer  ;  which  shall 
it  be,  Quintil?'" 

"  Neither,"  he  replied,  manfully,  "  for  you  are  neither  of  those 
things  to  me,  and  I  do  not  like  to  tell  stories  ;  but  I  will  CP  11 
you  '  madam,'  if  you  choose,  as  you  are  a  '  madam  ;'"  and  son-e- 
thing  like  a  sneer  wreathed  his  childish  lips. 

"  A  foolish  little  madam,  you  think,  Paul  I"  I  rejoined,  hai  to 
pique,  half  in  playfulness. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVBJBIE.  267 

"  Why  that  is  the  very  name  for  you,"  he  said,  brightening 
with  the  thought.  "  '  Little  Madam  !'  I  will  call  you  so  ;  but  I  will 
not  put  in  the  foolish,"  he  added,  gravely,  "  for,  perhaps,  you 
will  change  after  a  while  and  grow  wiser." 

He  spoke  very  seriously,  sorrowfully  almost,  and  I  was  quite 
provoked  for  a  moment  to  be  set  down  in  this  fashion,  by  such  a 
mere  babe  and  suckling.  I  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  presented 
to  me  of  snubbing  him  by  noticing  a  streak  of  molasses  on  his 
cheek. 

"  Go  wash  your  face,  Paul,"  I  said  ;  "  it  is  dirty  I" 

He  walked  gravely  to  the  glass  and  surveyed  the  stain. 
"  Looking-glasses  are  useful  things,  after  all,"  he  said  ;  "  they  tell 
the  truth — see  '  Little  Madam,'  how  you  are  mistaken  1  my  face 
is  not  dirty,  only  soiled;  food  is  not  dirt — if  it  were,  we  sb/ald  all 
starve." 

He  turned  and  smiled  at  me  in  his  peculiar  way,  half  mocking, 
half  affectionate. 

"  Yet,  as  you  bid  me,"  he  added,  "  I  will  wash  it  off ;  but 
isn't  it  a  pity  to  waste  what  would  keep  a  bee  alive  a  whole 
day  I" 

Is  this  brat  a  humorist  ? 


He  has  brought  out  of  his  funny  little  trunk  the  oddest  present 
for  me  !  It  is  a  Medusa's  head  admirably  carved  in  alabaster, 
and  was  broken  from  the  side  of  a  vase  by  accident,  and  given  to 
him  by  a  lady,  at  whose  house  he  made  a  visit  with  Mr.  Bouverie. 

He  Considers  it  a  priceless  treasure.  There  is  a  vague  horror 
to  me  in  the  face  that  is  almost  insupportable.  The  snaky  hair, 
the  sightless,  glaring-  eyes,  are  so  mysteriously  dreadful.  He  says 


268  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

it  will  answer  for  a  paper  weight.     No,  Paul,  I  will  lay  it  away 
out  of  sight  forever. 


August. 

Mr.  Bouverie  is  at  home  once  more  ;  oh,  what  joy  to  feel  his 
fond  arms  around  me  again,  to  lay  my  head  on  his  noble,  tender 
breast !  My  husband;  what  name  so  dear  ?  He  is  going  to  begin 
a  regular  course  of  reading  with  me  now,  and  educate  me,  he 
declares,  up  to  my  capacity  1 

"  A  very  poor  education  it  will  be  after  all,  my  Erastus,"  I 
said,  laughing  ;  "if  my  brain  is  to  be  the  limit  1" 

"  Come,  let  me  examine  you  in  French,"  he  said,  gravely, 
taking  down  '  Numa  Pompilius '  from  the  shelf.  Interpret  for 
me  the  words  of  Florian,  my  dear  !" 

I  read  aloud,  with  pure  accent  and  perfect  understanding  of  the 
text,  first  in  French,  then  in  English,  a  chapter  of  this  work. 

"  You  are  familiar  with  that,  it  is  easy  too,"  he  said,  putting 
the  book  quietly  back  in  its  place. 

"  Read  me  a  little  now  from  Montesquieu." 

Again,  I  read  without  an  error,  either  in  pronunciation  or  em- 
phasis, a  chapter  from  "  L'Esprit  des  Lois."  Even  his  fastidious 
sense  of  right  was  satisfied. 

"  You  understand  French,  Camilla,  evidently,"  he  said  ;  "  but 
that  is  about  all  that  you  do  know.  You  are  like  a  man  who  has 
commenced  his  dinner  on  pound-cake.  Substantials  will  be  un- 
savory to  you  now  ;  yet,  you  must  take  them  for  your  health's 
sake,  child." 

"I  do  not  see  the  necessity,"  I  said,  obstinately  ;  "I  write 
fluently,  I  spell  well,  I  read  better- -they  say  who  have  heard  me— 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  269 

than  most  people  I  have  the  use  of  my  tongue,  and  talk  gram- 
matically ;  what  more  do  I  need — I,  a  woman  ?" 

"  Do  you  know  why  you  talk  thus  ?"  he  said  ;  "  yours  is  the 
grammar  of  routine,  merely  ;  you  can  no  more  give  a  reason  for 
your  words  than  the  grey  macaw  yonder." 

"  Thank  you,"  I  said,  courtesying  demurely. 

"  It  is  astonishing,  after  all,"  he  said,  "  where  your  gifts  come 
from — for  you  certainly  are  gifted — with  such  poor  watery  blood 
in  your  veins  !"  He  half  murmured  these  words. 

"  Poor  blood  I  Why,  my  blood  is  as  red  as  rubies,  and  as  rich 
as  cream,  when  I  cut  my  finger  last  week  " 

"  Nonsense,  Camilla  ;  what  a  literalist  you  are,  to  be  sure,"  he 
interrupted,  getting  up  and  walking  the  room,  with  a  stormy  face, 
and  glaring  at  me  terribly. 

I  dropped  my  head  on  my  bosom. 

"  I  am  talking  of  your  Byrne  blood,"  he  said,  sharply  ;  "  of 
your  pedigree." 

"  I  am  no  race-horse,"  I  said,  "  Mr.  Bouverie,  to  be  estimated 
by  pedigree  ;"  I  spoke  proudly.  He  smiled  as  if  he  could  not 
help  it  ;  but  in  an  irritating  way. 

"  True,  true — and  yet  that  dilating,  delicate  nostril — that  lofty 
carriage  of  the  head,  that  small,  well  set  ear,  do  remind  me  irre- 
sistibly all  the  tune  of  an  Arab  courser,"  he  said,  stopping  and 
looking  at  me  admiringly.  "And  those  well-turned  hands,  with 
their  slender  curling  tips  and  rosy  nails — what  right  have  you  to 
such  tokens  of  noble  blood,  Camilla  ?  None  at  all ;  you  are  a 
rank  usurper,  little  one."  He  approached  me,  and  threw  his  arm 

around  me. 

"  There  was  no  blood  better  than  my  father's,"  I  said,  under- 
standing him  well,  at  last,  and  I  knew  my  eye  flashed  as  I  spoke. 


270  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVEBIE. 

"  It  was  pure  Virginia  blood,  and  my  mother's  was  as  good  ;  but 
his  was  sanctified,  when  he  poured  it  out  freely  for  his  country, 
on  the  field  of  Yorktown." 

"  Talking  politics  !  eh,  Camilla  !  Do  you  know,  child,  there 
is  just  one  shade  of  difference  between  your  knowledge  on  such 
subjects  and  that  of  the  tortoise-shell  cat  who  sits  yonder  in 
the  corner  washing  her  face  with  her  paws  ?  Look  at  her,  Camilla, 
witness  her  humility." 

"  I  can  not  see,  Erastus,"  I  said,  disengaging  myself  from  his 
embrace,  "how  it  elevates  you  to  try  and  degrade  the  wife  of 
your  bosom."  And  I  drew  myself  up  with  a  stately  air. 

"  She  has  you  there,"  cried  Paul  Quintilian,  suddenly  lifting 
his  head  from  the  book  of  algebra,  where  he  had  held  it  closely 
supported  until  now,  by  his  hands,  and  slipping  his  feet  from 
the  rungs  of  the  chair,  so  as  to  undouble  himself  again.  "  Little 
Madam  plumped  you  that  time,  past  your  middle  man  clean 
into  taw,  and  you  are  nowheres  !"  He  snapped  his  fingers. 
"What  a  look  the  boy  receiyed.  Had  he  met  it  full,  it  must  have 
blighted  him  ;  as  it  was,  I  stood  trembling  for  the  consequences 
of  this  singular  triumphant  outbreak  in  my  favor,  I  must  confess. 

"  Paul  Quintilian,"  said  Mr.  Bouverie,  at  last,  in  an  accent  of 
suppressed  rage,  and  indicating  his  command  with  his  long-point- 
ing finger,  while  his  cheek  grew  white  and  his  lip  trembled. 
"  Leave  this  library,  and  return  to  it  no  more,  until  you  are 
summoned,  sir." 

The  child  scrambled  down  from  his  chair  and  walked  quickly 
out,  clasping  his  book  to  his  breast,  yet  at  the  door  he  turned 
and  darted  a  sympathizing  look  at  me,  a  furious  one  at  him,  un- 
noticed by  Mr.  Bouverie.  As  he  passed  out,  I  threw  my  arms 
around  Erastus.  "  He  is  a  poor  little  orphan,"  I  said,  "  do  not 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  271 

be  severe,"  and  I  buried  my  face  in  his  breast.  "  God  gave  him 
to  us,  Erastus." 

"  I  must  teach  him  manners  love,  you  know,  as  a  part  of  my 
duty  "  I  felt  his  kisses  on  my  hair.  When  I  looked  up  every 
trace  of  excitement  had  rolled  from  his  features  as  a  cloud  from 
clear  sunshine.  Again  I  met  his  beautiful  radiant  smile. 

"  You  are  so  sweet,"  he  said,  "  so  angelic,  who  could  resist 
you?  Do  you  know,  Camilla,  that  I  have  never  loved  any 
woman  before  ?  I  have  tried  but  never  could  succeed,  and  now 
comes  a  little  wood  nymph,  and  prostrates  all  my  faculties  to  her 
will;  but  you,"  he  continued,  "young  as  you  are,  have  had 
your  own  little  experiences  of  the  heart  already  ?" 

I  blushed,  and  hung  down  my  head.  "  No,"  he  said,  "  I  am 
not  going  to  probe  the  old  wound — do  not  be  afraid — he  was  a 
scoundrel,  let  him  go.  Love  vanishes  with  respect,  we  all  know  ; 
I  am  not  afraid  of  the  future." 

Something  called  me  away  not  long  after  this  ;  I  went  into 
the  pantry  to  see  Bianca,  she  was  not  there  ;  but  Paul,  in  his 
accustomed  attitude,  with  his  feet  wrapped  round  the  rungs  of 
his  chair,  his  elbows  on  the  table,  his  bushy  head  supported  in 
his  hands,  was  deep  again  in  his  algebra. 

He  looked  up,  however,  as  soon  as  I  entered,  with  a  quick  flash 
of  the  eye,  that  showed  his  ready  recurrence  to  the  little  scene  in 
which  he  had  so  ingloriously  enacted  the  part  of  a  defeated 
champion.  The  lamp  had  been  lit  and  threw  its  ruddy  glare  over 
his  angry  little  face,  and  suddenly  clenched  hands. 

"  He  is  as  cross  as  a  crab,"  he  said,  "  and  I  hate  him,  and  so 
does  Bianca,  that  is  one  comfort,  and  so  will  you,  Little  Madam, 
goine  day,  and  that  is  another." 

'  Oh  !  Paul,  Paul !  surely  you  are  uot  speaking  of  your  vene- 


272          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

rated  guardian,  of  my  idolized  husband  in  such  words.  Do  you 
know  that  if  I  could  feel  thus  my  sin  would  be  too  great  for  for- 
giveness ?" 

"  How  could  you  help  it,"  he  said,  "  if  he  riled  you  all  the 
time  ?" 

"  But  he  never  thought  of  such  a  thing,  he  was  only  jesting,  and 
you,  dear  Paul,  were  wrong  to  be  so  rude,  so  outrageous  almost. 
I  am  sorry  to  apply  such  terms  to  you  ;  but  they  are  truthful 
words,  dear  Paul,  and  you  must  try  and  be  sorry  that  you  have 
offended  Mr.  Bouverie." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  "  if,  if,  it 
makes  you  sorry,  Little  Madam  ;"  and  he  laid  his  head  on  the 
table  and  began  to  cry  heartily. 

I  went  up  to  hun  and  kissed  him  softly,  and  put  my  arms 
closely  round  the  poor  motherless  one. 

Oh  !  Charlie,  Charlie  !  perhaps  he  has  been  given  to  me  in  place 
of  you,  my  lovely  little  brother.  Safe  in  your  own  mother's  arms, 
amid  the  angels  now,  and  in  the  holy  company,  I  doubt  not,  of 
the  sweet  Virgin.  Let  me  never  be  unkind  to  this  little  noble, 
true  heart,  so  feeling  yet  so  resentful  too.  Let  me  never  forget 
the  weight  of  my  responsibility  toward  this  dear  'friendless  boy. 
He  is  the  last  of  a  family  of  six,  with  one  exception.  His  brother, 
twelve  years  older,  is  also  a  ward  of  Mr.  Bouverie's  ;  but  is 
being  educated  in  Leyden,  where  some  of  his  connections  live. 
He  is  said  to  be  a  remarkably  handsome  and  promising  youth, 
and  his  letters  to  Paul  are  marked  with  tenderness  and  dignity, 
yet  what  can  he  do  to  comfort  his  little  brother,  so  far  away  ? 
that  great  sea  lying  between  them,  almost  like  death  itself? 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTTVERIE.  2T3 

September. 

Three  months  have  scarcely  elapsed  since  my  marriage,  and  yet 
already  a  great  sorrow  has  fallen  upon  me.  What  should  I  do 
if  I  had  not  the  comfort  of  these  faithful  pages?  To  whom 
should  I  apply  for  counsel  or  for  sympathy?  I  often  receive 
both  as  from  foreign  sources  as  I  write,  it  seems  to  me  I  am 
answered.  During  my  husband's  brief  absence,  I  received  a  letter 
from  Eliza  Jones,  written  on  her  death-bed.  She  inclosed  all  of 
Frederick  Staunton's  letters,  long  intercepted.  She  tells  me  a  tale 
that  I  cannot,  will  not  believe  about  that  ring  she  wore,  and 
declared  he  gave  her. 

No,  my  noble  husband  never  stooped  to  treachery  like  this  I 
And  yet  she  says  that  it  was  because  she  must  have  been  au 
ever-present  reproach  to  him,  that  he  refused  to  let  me 
keep  her  as  my  maid — the  most  efficient,  certainly,  I  could  have 
procured. 

My  engagement  with  Frederick  Staunton  was  a  childish  affair  ; 
yet  I  should  have  fulfilled  it  to  the  letter,  but  for  his  long  silence, 
and  the  baseness  he  was  guilty  of  in  presenting  the  ring  I  gave 
him  to  Eliza  Jones.  She  sends  it  back  to  me,  declaring  that  she 
stole  it  from  him  while  he  slept,  at  my  husband's  instigation,  on 
the  last  night  of  his  stay  at  Bouverie,  a  year  ago  !  I  had  no  idea 
then  that  Erastus  was  thinking  of  me,  mere  child  that  I  was  ;  I  do 
not  believe  it  yet.  Our  love  was  sudden  ;  our  engagement,  almost 
immediately,  owing  to  circumstances,  succeeded  by  our  marriage. 

Frederick's  perfidy  cost  me  few  lasting  pangs  ;  for  noble  and 
handsome  as  he  seemed,  how  could  he  compare  for  a  moment 
to  the  brilliant,  fascinating  man,  who  deigned  to  ask  my  hand  ? 
He  had  left  the  way  open  certainly  by  his  carelessness  ft»  his 
rival's  success. 


274  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUTERIB. 

Had  he  been  true,  I  should .  have  been  faithful  to  him  :  and 
yet  it  seems  it  was  no  fault  of  his,  after  all.  Here  are  his  letters, 
indisputable  proofs  of  his  constancy  before  me — here  my  ring — 
here  the  acknowledgment  of  a  dying  woman  ! 

There  is  something  very  black  about  this  matter  ;  but  I  discard 
the  thought  that  my  husband  ever  stooped  to  such  a  step.  No  ! 
Eliza  Jones  is  revenging  herself,  terribly  indeed,  for  the  slight  he 
put  upon  her,  by  refusing  to  let  her  continue  in  my  service.  He 
threatened  her,  she  said,  and  she  was  afraid  to  speak  ;  "but  the 
dead  are  beyond  the  power  of  the  living,"  she  added,  "  and  I  dare 
disclose  all  now."  Then  begging  me  for  pardon,  she  concludes 
this  dying  confession  of  sin,  of  shame,  of  treachery  I 

I  forgive  you,  poor  Eliza,  from  the  bottom  of  my  heart,  as  I 
hope  to  be  forgiven,  but  I  will  not  suffer  myself  to  refer  this  mat- 
ter to  my  husband  in  any  way.  I  will  not  annoy  him  now  on  the 
subject  at  all.  I  will  put  the  letters  aside,  and  the  ring,  and  at 
some  future  time  he  shall  see  them,  and  receive  my  assurances  of 
continued  confidence  and  respect.  He  will  believe  me  then  ;  he 
might  doubt  me  now  and  be  troubled.  I  am  determined  to  dis- 
card this  matter  from  all  further  thought  or  consideration. 

My  husband  returns  to-morrow. 


Mr.  Bouverie  has  come,  so  bright,  so  noble,  so  affectionate  ! 
His  love  for  me  seems  to  increase. 

I  thought  that  men  grew  colder  as  time  flew.  I  am  strangely 
constituted,  I  fear. 

There  is  a  fierceness  in  his  passion  that  almost  terrifies  me 
sometimes,  and  chills  me  even.  I  do  not  think  my  temperament 
is  sufficiently  high  strung  and  lofty  to  match  with  his.  He  aska 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVERIE.  275 

me  sometimes  if  I  would  be  willing  to  jump  from  a  cliff  with  him 
if  he  wished  it,  and  when  I  falter  for  a  reply,  he  says,  "  Camilla, 
no  woman  that  loves  truly  would  hesitate  for  an  answer  to  such  a 
question."  And  yet  I  think  he  loves  his  life  as  well  as  any  one 
else. 

I  believe  some  day  I  will  say  "  yes,"  just  to  see  what  he  would 
do.  But  it  would  displease  him  perhaps  were  he  to  read  my 
object,  which  he  would  be  very  sure  to  do,  he  is  so  penetrating. 

I  have  an  instinctive  feeling  that  he  would  never  forgive  me,  if 
I  offended  him  even  once. 


Erastus  does  not  like  little  Paul,  that  is  plain.  I  am  sorry  for 
this  ;  the  child  seems  fond  of  him  of  late,  and  I  am  growing  into 
a  real  attachment  for  the  good,  earnest  little  fellow.  He  is 
teaching  me  arithmetic  !  Does  this  not  seem  queer,  with  all  my 
various  reading,  and  some  little  accomplishment,  I  never  under- 
stood the  rule  of  three  until  this  child  made  it  plain  to  me? 
What  a  poor  thing  a  woman's  education  is  at  best  1  No  wonder 
the  men  fancy  themselves  so  superior  !  In  return  I  teach  Paul  the 
piano  ;  and  he  thrums  several  hum-drum  tunes,  to  his  own  great 
delight,  and  Mr.  Bouverie's  infinite  annoyance. 

That  is  the  one  thing  in  which  Erastus  is  deficient — he  has  no 
ear  for  music.  He  is  not  ashamed  to  acknowledge  this,  and 
therefore  I  was  ill-prepared  for  his  angry  scowl,  when  I  quoted, 
playfully  I  am  sure,  Shakspeare's  celebrated  lines  : 

"  The  man  that  has  no  music  in  his  soul, 

Nor  is  not  mored  with  concord  of  sweet  sounds, 

Is  fit  for  treason,  stratagem  and  spoils, 

And  his  affection  dark  as  Erebus— 

Let  no  such  man  be  trusted !" 
28 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

Paul  goes  to  school  in  our  neighborhood.  He  sleeps  in 
Bianca's  room  in  the  wing,  and  is  well  cared  for.  Dame 
McCormick,  too,  is  tolerably  kind  to  him.  Poor  thing,  her  son 
has  run  off,  and  gone  to  sea,  and  she  is  in  great  distress.  She 
has  no  other  child  to  protect  her  in  her  old  age.  I  cheer  her, 
however,  as  well  as  I  can,  by  holding  out  the  hope  that  he  will 
yet  return.  I  am  giving  up  my  music,  because  Erastus  dislikes 
it  so  much,  and  yet  I  used  to  be  said  to  have  a  sweet  voice. 
Paul's  practisings  are  also  hushed,  in  accordance  with  what  I  con- 
sider my  duty  to  my  husband. 

Mr.  Bouverie  is  of  opinion  that  "  music  is  only  the  most  endur- 
able of  disagreeable  noises." 

It  certainly  is  a  small  sacrifice  to  close  a  piano,  and  yet — and 
yet — I  have  been  spoiled,  I  fear  I 


October. 

I  was  crimping  a  frill  for  Paul  the  other  day,  when  Mr.  Bou- 
verie came  in,  and  suddenly  plucking  it  from  my  fingers,  threw  it 
into  the  fire.  He  did  not  seem  excited — only  cold  and  dis- 
pleased. 

"I  disapprove  of  such  frippery  for  a  boy,"  he  said,  calmly, 
"  and,  Camilla,  what  can  you  see  in  that  lumpy  child  to  interest 
you  up  to  the  point  of  giving  him  almost  half  of  your  time  ? 
You  are  always  at  work  for  him  1" 

"  He  is  a  good  child,"  I  replied,  "  and  you  requested  me,  when 
you  brought  him  here,  to  be  kind  to  him.  It  is  not  hi  my  nature 
to  treat  him  otherwise  than  kindly."  The  tears,  in  spite  of 
myself,  rolled  down  my  cheeks.  He  surveyed  me  with  a  mocking 
smile. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          277 

"  You  are  laying  up  treasures  in  heaven,  eh  !  Camilla  ?"  he 
observed,  "  by  attention  to  the  orphan  and  widowed"  (alluding 
to  Dame  McCormick,  whose  recent  affliction  had  taken  me  to 
see  her  several  times),  "and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  We  shall 
have  you  a  member  of  the  missionary  society  next,  making 
flannels  for  the  Feejee  children,  whose  luxury  it  is  to  go  naked." 

"  Mr.  Bouverie,  you  are  unjust  to  me,"  I  said.  "  I  do  all  I 
can  to  please  you;"  adding  playfully,  "a  woman's  work-basket  is 
her  castle,  I  believe,  in  most  cases,  and  she  does  what  she  will 
within  its  walls." 

"  A  woman  !  Why  you  are  a  mere  child,  Camilla.  It  is  my 
duty  to  train  you  in  the  way  you  shall  go,  and  I  mean  to 
fulfill  it." 

I  shrank  before  the  glance  he  bent  on  me  (he  has  a  terriblo 
eye,  certainly,  though  I  never  noticed  it  before  we  were  mar 
ried),  and  I  conquered  the  reply  that  rose  to  my  Ijps. 

I  shall  crimp  no  more  frills  for  little  Paul  1 


He  is  sorry  for  his  conduct,  I  think,  though  he  has  never  said 
so.  He  has  brought  me  a  beautiful  bracelet  and  a  book  for 
Paul.  The  child  is  in  raptures.  It  is  Mr.  Day's  pleasant  work, 
"  Sanford  and  Merton."  I  think  Paul's  character  is  so  much 
like  Sanford's  that  I  mentioned  it  to  Mr.  Bouverie,  but  he  quite 
scouted  the  idea,  and  seemed  impatient  that  I  should  spend  my 
t;me  reading  a  child's  story. 

He  has  given  me  a  terribly  difficult  book  on  mental  philosophy 
to  study.  I  am  sure  I  cannot  make  head  or  tail  of  it,  and  what 
does  it  signify,  after  all  ?  There  is  a  chapter  on  the  "  law  of 
motives,"  that  has  almost  set  me  crazy.  If  I  were  a  queen,  I 


278  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

would  »hut  up  the  man  that  wrote  this  book,  in  a  lunatu:  asjlum 
tor  life,  and  so  benefit  mankind.  Mr.  Bouverie  examined  me 
when  he  returned  from  Croften  (I  knew  he  would),  and  I  did 
not  know  one  word  of  my  lesson. 

"  You  have  not  the  intellect  I  thought  you  had,  Camilla," 
he  said,  gravely;  "but  of  course  you  are  not  accountable  for 
this." 

I  looked  up  into  his  face  and  laughed  outright ;  he,  too, 
smiled.  "  Little  trifler  !"  he  said  fondly,  taking  my  face  in  his 
hands,  and  kissing  me  repeatedly  ;  "  yet  sweeter  thus,  I  believe," 
he  added. 

"  See  what  I  have  brought  my  idle  scholar  as  a  reward  for 
disobedience,"  and  he  held  up  before  me  a  dear,  delightful  book 
— a  sort  of  novel,  written  in  poetry,  called  "  Marmion,"  by  a 
new  English  poet,  Walter  Scott.  I  have  devoured  it  literally. 
Mr.  Bouverie  amuses  himself  all  the  time  at  my  expense,  as  if  I 
were  a  child,  sure  enough,  as  he  so  often  calls  me.  He  thinks  it 
the  height  of  absurdity  to  cry  over  a  novel,  as  if  any  one  could 
help  it,  when  the  words  seem  to  dig  into  the  very  heart,  or  as  if 
any  one  would  so  indulge  that  could  help  it.  I  am  so  afraid  of 
that  cold,  splendid,  sarcastic  smile  of  his  ! — like  sunlight  on  an 
iceberg.  I  must  correct  this  feeling.  What  is  the  use  of  being 
afraid  of  a  mere  habitual  expression  that  will  go  with  my  hus- 
band through  life  ?  This  is  sheer  cowardice,  and  this  feeling  has 
lately  come  to  me. 


January. 

We  have  had  a  ball  at  Bouverie.    What  a  princely  mien  Mr 
Bouverie  has  ;  how  superior  he  is  in  bearing  to  all  other  men  ! 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEKIE.  279 

He  received  our  guests  with  such  elegance — he  noticed  the  need 
of  every  one — he  seemed  gifted  with  ubiquity,  almost,  and  yet,  I 
think,  our  ball  was  a  dull  affair.  I  would  not  say  this  to  another 
soul  than  yourself,  my  precious  diary.  It  was  certainly  a  dull 
affair.  We  had  a  fine  band  of  music ;  the  house  was  a  blaze  of 
light,  and  crowded  with  guests  ;  the  supper  was  a  paragon  of 
excellence  and  elegance  ;  the  wines,  they  say,  were  exquisite  ;  the 
ladies  (many  from  the  capital)  beautifully  dressed  ;  I  myself 
much  flattered,  much  attended,  and  yet  (there  is  no  use  disguising 
it)  a  cold  restraint  seemed  to  rest  over  every  one.  There  was  no 
laughter,  the  voices  seemed  subdued — everything  was  conducted 
in  a  new  style  of  courtly  elegance,  and  the  question  suggested 
itself  to  me,  "May  not  a  host  be  oppressively  polished ?"  As 
for  me,  I  did  nothing  but  try  and  enjoy  myself.  I 
kuew  Mr.  Bouverie  would  see  that  no  one  was  neglected, 
and  no  one  was  ;  I  have  heard  this  since  from  unquestionable 
authority. 

I  found  myself  toward  the  close  of  the  evening  in  a  corner 
with  James  Stauuton.  His  wife  was  not  present.  I  tried,  but 
could  not  ask  for  Frederick,  as  I  knew  I  ought  to  have  done  ; 
he  seemed  to  understand  the  sort  of  struggle  that  was  going  on 
within.  "  My  brother  is  coming  home  in  spring,"  lie  said,  "  with 
his  ship.  You  knew,  I  suppose,  Mrs.  Bouverie,  that  Eliza  Jones 
died  at  our  house  ?" 

I  started—"  I  did  not  know  this  before,"  I  said,  quite  pale 
and  trembling. 

"  You  got  your  ring,  I  hope,  and  your  letters  ?"  he  added, 

after  a  pause. 
I  bowed  in  speechless  confusion.    I  thought  him  very  cruel, 

very  insolent  even. 


280  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

"You  understand  Frederick  too  late  for  his  happiness,"  he  pur- 
sued  ;  "  if  not " 

"  I  understand  only  that  there  has  been  a  conspiracy,"  I  inter- 
rupted, sternly  recovering  myself  ;  "  to  injure  one  dearer  to  me 
than  life  ;  and  the  references  you  have  made  this  night  will  divide 
us  for  ever,  James  Staunton." 

"  Stay,  Camilla,"  he  said,  calling  my  name  with  the  familiarity 
of  old  times.  "  I  have  been  abrupt,  I  know — it  was  not  my  in- 
tention to  be  rude  ;  I  might  have  retained  proofs  of  all  this 
treachery  to  the  great  injury  of  others — I  have  not  done  this 
thing,  and  like  you,  I  hope,  that  some  deep  laid  motive  of  revenge 
or  hate,  guided  that  dying  woman  !  Let  us  be  friends  again." 

I  turned,  I  gave  him  my  hand  ;  "On  one  condition  only  can 
this  be,"  I  said  ;  "  that  you  confine  this  matter  to  your  own 
breast  forever,  you  and  yours,  for  my  sake,  for  the  sake  of  old 
friendship  you  must  do  this." 

He  bent  over  my  hand,  much  affected.  He  knows  now  that  I 
did  not  jilt  Frederick,  as  at  one  tune  he  accused  me  of  doing.  I 
am  glad  of  this  at  all  events,  for  I  do  care  for  his  respect,  and 
that  of  his  true-hearted  wife.  James  Staunton  is  a  noble  man, 
and  yet  he  is  common  beside  my  husband  1 

They  are  starting  in  the  career  of  life  together  ;  men,  I  think, 
of  nearly  the  same  age.  The  same  goal  is  before  them,  for  they 
are  ambitious,  both.  If  I  live  until  that  tune  I  shall  glance  with 
something  of  pride  on  my  own  oracular  wisdom — back  at  this 
page  of  yours,  dear  diary,  in  which  I  record  the  prediction — that 
James  Staunton  will  never  pass  the  mediocrity  of  position,  and 
that  Erastus  Bouverie  stands  on  the  topmost  platform  of  his  Stato 
at  middle  age.  We  shall  see. 


THE,    HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  281 

April. 

The  winter  has  passed,  spring  is  here  again  ;  how  beautiful  it 
is  !  The  woods  about  Bouverie  are  putting  forth  their  young 
tender  green.  The  frogs  are  croaking  around  the  lake.  The 
birds  are  brooding.  I  met  a  bee  to-day,  "  sent  out  to  see  about 
the  weather."  Paul  says  :  Bees  are  the  only  creatures  that  write 
books  according  to  him  ;  what  a  ridiculous  idea  1  he  believes  that 
their  little  waxen  cells  are  all  scribbled  over  with  the  results  of 
their  experience.  He  reveres  bees  like  Napoleon.  He  considers 
honey  the  choicest  food  of  man,  and  would  not  kill  a  bee  for  any 
reward  one  could  offer. 

What  a  strange  Egyptian  idea  of  sanctity  he  attaches  to  thern- 
He  thinks  that  when  caught  and  imprisoned  in  a  hollyhock  flower, 
and  held  to  the  ear,  a  bee  is  compelled  to  prophesy.  He  regrets 
that  he  cannot  comprehend  these  buzzing  oracles  ;  but  hopes, 
some  day,  to  conquer  the  difficulties  of  their  language  !  All  this 
is  serious,  and  yet  generally,  he  is  a  sensible  wight ! 

With  the  sweet  impulses  of  spring,  has  come  one  strange  to 
me,  yet  sweeter  than  all  the  rest  together.  I  hold  a  happy 
secret  in  my  breast.  I  will  not  tell  Erastus  yet !  Let  him  dis- 
cover it  with  those  observing  eyes  of  his.  Dear  Diary,  to  you 
alone  I  confide  my  hope,  my  joy  ;  yet,  I  afn  so  young  1  so  unpre- 
pared !  Sweet  Mary,  from  thy  throne  in  heaven,  look  on  thy 
child — thou,  who,  having  known  woman's  shape,  still  lovest  best 
*,hy  sisters  of  the  earth.  Mother,  sister,  saint,  counsel  and  sus- 
tain me.  I  ask  thee  in  the  name  of  thy  holy  Son,  our  divine 
Saviour,  Jesus  Christ,  our  Lord  ! 


282  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIK. 

Mr.  Bouve:.ie  goes  away  to-day,  when  he  returns,  everything 
shall  be  revealed  to  him  connected  with  my  own  situation,  I  mean, 
— oh  !  what  a  blank  his  absence  makes  for  me  ! 


May. 

Dear  Paul  has  quite  signalized  himself  to-day,  by  his  extra- 
ordinary presence  of  mind  and  courage ,  in  defending  me  from  the 
attack  of  a  bull.  We  were  walking  in  the  clover  meadow,  when 
we  saw  that  great  black  creature  of  Mr.  Bouverie's,  always  con- 
sidered so  gentle  before,  tearing  toward  us.  His  first  impulse 
was  to  take  my  hand  and  run  ;  but  seeing  that  I  could  never 
reach  the  fence  in  tune,  he  called  to  me  to  run  as  fast  as  I  could, 
snatching  my  parasol  away  as  he  did  so.  I  flew,  and  rolled  over 
the  fence  before  I  reflected  on  my  cowardice. 

The  brave  little  fellow  had  opened  the  parasol  suddenly  in  the 
bull's  face,  then  dropping  it,  as  the  creature  swerved  with  fear  or 
astonishment,  he  fled  rapidly  to  the  nearest  tree  before  he  could 
charge  again,  and  climbed  into  its  branches. 

The  parasol  was  truly  "a  wreck"  when  it  came  to  be  ex- 
amined. 

In  the  meantime,  gome  men  from  a  neighboring  field  came  to 
our  assistance,  and  with  strong  lassoes  caught  and  compelled  the 
creature  to  subjection.  They  are  going  to  bore  his  nose,  and 
ornament  it  with  a  ring,  for  his  caper.  Paul  is  quite  distressed 
"  that  he  should  have  brought  so  much  unnecessary  pain  upou 
himself."  He  is  a  dear,  quaint  child. 

I  have  a  project  about  a  little  watch  for  him,  which  was  my 
brother's  once.  It  has  lain  a  long  time  idle,  and  needs  repairing'. 
It  is  faced  with  blue  enamel,  and  has  an  azure  lion  on  the  back 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          283 

(how  natural !),  set  round  with  pearls,  in  a  gold  framing  that  ia 
rery  striking.  The  beast  has  ruby  eyes,  and  a  bristling  mane, 
and  one  foot  is  placed  on  a  mother  of  pearl  ball,  in  a  fierce  and 
commanding  attitude.  I  shall  have  the  inscription  put  inside — 
"The  reward  of  valor" — with  his  name  next  to  my  brother's, 
and  mine  as  the  donor  and  obliged  person.  He  is  the  sort  of 
child  that  will  appreciate  the  motive,  and  take  care  of  the  watch. 
This  wiH  comfort  me  a  little  for  not  being  allowed  to  crimp  his 
frills.  Paul  and  I  have  been  making  a  flower-garden,  a  regular 
parterre. 

It  is  quite  beautiful,  we  think,  but  I  have  burned  my  face 
dreadfully,  and  Erastus  will  scold.  Never  mind,  buttermilk  does 
wonders,  and  such  gardens  repay  one  for  a  little  personal  disad- 
vantage. I  shall  remind  Mr.  Bouverie  with  mild  dignity  that 
Semiramis  made  gardens.  Let  him  answer  that  if  he  can  1  Paul 
has  the  sweetest  little  bantam  chickens  just  hatched  that  ever  I 
saw ;  but  I  still  retain  my  passion  for  young  ducks.  I  have  a 
pen  full,  and  I  watch  them  half  the  day. 

What  a  sore  waste  of  time  it  is  after  all ;  but  who  can  resist 
the  little  callow  things,  so  hardy  and  independent  as  they  are, 
too? 

I  promise  myself  great  fun  in  seeing  them  swim  to-morrow. 


Mr.  James  Staunton  has  been  here.  He  says  that  Frederick 
has  returned,  and  that  Eliza  Jones  wrote  to  him  also  from  her 
dying-bed.  He  is  furious,  and  threatens  to  call  Mr.  Bouverie 
out.  Oh,  how  terrible  this  news  is  to  me !  He  believes  that 
horrible  slander,  and  Eliza  Jones  has  gone  to  her  account  with- 
out  recalling  it. 


284  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVKEIE. 

Oh  !  what  shall  I  do  ?  What  shall  be  done  ?  I  must  go  to 
Bishop  Clare — but  no — I  remember  now  he  is  absent  again  on 
that  troublesome  southern  trial.  I  cannot  send  for  Frederick  to 
come  here.  Mr.  Staunton  suggests  that  I  shall  go  to  Mrs. 
Duganne's  ball  next  Tuesday.  I  had  intended  to  refuse  her,  in  my 
husband's  absence,  although  a  neighbor. 

He  says  Frederick  will  be  there,  and  that  I  can  do  more  with 
him  than  any  one  else. 

Mr.  Bouverie  will  still  be  absent  a  fortnight.  If  I  can  only 
silence  this  matter  before  his  return,  all  will  be  well  again.  Mr. 
James  Staunton  will  be  there  also,  and  has  promised  to  assist  me. 
I  will  go,  and  remonstrate  with  Frederick  ;  he  loved  me  once,  and 
I  love  him  still  with  sisterly  affection.  I  have  discovered  that  I 
never  knew  any  other  for  him,  although  I  did  not  know  this  until 
I  truly  loved. 

There  is  all  the  difference  imaginable. 


I  shall  wear  my  wedding  dress  to  Mrs.  Duganne's  ball,  for  the 
last  tune  perhaps  ;  it  will  be  out  of  fashion  before  I  go  out  again. 
I  will  lay  it  by  for  my  daughter  to  see,  should  God  bless  me 
with  one.  She  will  value  it,  even  if  antiquated  and  yellow  with 
time. 

It  is  of  rich  white  satin,  and  this  soon  changes  color.  I  shall 
go  in  my  carriage,  and  need  no  escort ;  but  for  company,  and  to 
please  him,  both,  I  will  take  Paul  Quintilian. 

I  do  wish  he  was  a  prettier  child.  Dress  ruins  him  ;  he  looks 
best  in  his  little  every-day  blue  jacket  and  trowsers.  He  has 
no  style,  no  elegance  ;  his  neck  is  short,  his  head  is  large,  his  hair 
bushy,  though  fine  ;  his  shoulders  round,  his  features  heavy,  but 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  285 

for  his  luminous  grey  eyes,  there  would  be  nothing  remarkable 
about  him.  I  hear  that  his  brother,  greatly  older,  and  about  to 
be  married,  though  so  young,  to  the  daughter  of  a  Leyden  pro- 
fessor, under  whose  tuition  he  has  been  five  years,  is  a  very  hand- 
some man. 

What  a  pity  that  dear  Paul  could  not  have  participated  in 
this  partial  gift  of  nature  ! 

They  were  both  wards  of  Mr.  Bouverie,  as  I  believe  I  said 
before,  the  eldest  and  youngest  of  a  large  family,  else  extinct. 
Luther  Qumtilian  preferred  to  be  educated  abroad  ;  indeed  he 
was  nearly  of%ge  when  he  fell  into  Mr.  Bouverie's  hands,  and  so 
little  Paul  became  our  only  charge.  God  bless  him  I 

He  is  a  real  dear  little  ugly  brother  and  true  comforter  to  me  ; 
and  I  know  whatever  befalls  either  of  us,  he  will  protect  my 
child. 

It  is  a  great  weakness  of  mine  to  love  beauty  so  much.  I 
must  guard  against  it.  It  would  be  such  a  base  thing  for  a 
mother  to  be  partial  to  one  child  above  another  from  such  a 
motive  ! 

I  think  I  have  probably  over-appreciated  my  own  good  looks, 
— laid  too  much  stress  on  them,  I  mean.  I  must  try  to  be  good, 
and  true,  and  religious.  Oh,  I  wish  my  husband  were  a  pious 
man  ;  but  it  is  dreadfully  discouraging  to  a  wife  to  be  advised  to 
be  devout,  when  she  sees  laughter  in  the  eyes  of  the  adviser,  and 
he  her  husband  ! 

I  will  set  Bishop  Clare  at  work  to  convert  Mr.  Bouverie,  as 
soon  as  he  returns.  I  think  he  will  make  him  a  good  Catholic 
yet.  And  of  course  a  man  of  his  culture  and  pride  could  not 
stoop  to  anything  else — coming,  I  mean,  from  the  family  he  did, 
in  England,  Catholic  from  the  time  of  the  Norman  conquest. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD    CF   BOUVEBEE. 

As  the  time  draws  near  for  the  party,  I  feel  very  tremulous. 
Perhaps  I  am  taking  too  much  on  myself,  and  painful  as  it  would 
be,  I  had  better  let  matters  proceed  to  a  settlement  between 
Frederick  and  Erastus. 

Then  again,  I  dread — oh  1  I  do  dread  the  result  of  such  a 
meeting.  Suppose  there  should  be  bloodshed,  which  words  of 
mine  might  have  averted  1  How  I  should  reproach  myself  for- 
ever more  !  I  know  the  very  insinuation  of  baseness  would  fire 
Mr.  Bouverie's  chivalric  blood,  and  disastrous  consequences  might 
ensue . 

It  is  best  that  he  should  never  know  (if  possible*©  keep  it  from 
him)  of  what  Eliza  Jones  accused  him.  Poor  girl !  May  the 
holy  saints  protect  her  through  all  the  horrors  of  Purgatory,  and 
may  she  in  the  end  gain  the  divine  pardon,  as  freely  as  I  grant 
her  mine  ;  yet  it  is  very  bitter  to  a  proud  man  to  be  maligned, 
and  Mr.  Bouverie  would  resent  it  fearfully,  I  know.  The  matter 
must  be  silenced  for  the  sake  of  all  concerned.  It  is  one  involv- 
ing a  woman's  delicacy.  Frederick  must  see  it  in  this  light. 

I  feel  very  averse  to  meeting  him,  though,  under  my  new  cir- 
cumstances. What  a  kind,  devoted  fellow  he  ever  was  to  me 
from  childhood  up. 

Perhaps,  after  all,  a  simple  nature  like  his  would  have  suited 
mine  best.  There  would  have  been  less  effort  about  my  life,  less 
constraint,  and  our  tastes  assimilated  perfectly.  Dancing  and 
music,  and  rides  on  horseback,  and  flower  culture,  and  bird  train- 
ing, and  novel-reading,  and  chatting  about  nothing  at  all.  'He 
loved  all  these  things,  and  so  do  I  ;  and  I  liked  him  just  well 
enough  for  happiness.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  loving  too  well 
for  one's  own  peace — loving  to  anxiety,  loving  to  morbidness 
even.  It  is  thus  I  love  my  husband,  I  am  afraid 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.  287 

I  cannot  sleep.  The  events  of  this  evening  have  excited  me, 
and  I  sit  down,  attired  as  I  am  for  bed,  to  confide  them  to  yon, 
dear  diary.  Paul,  who  was  very  weary  before  I  left  Moorfields, 
is  sleeping  soundly  on  his  couch  ;  for,  since  my  husband's  absence, 
I  have  kept  him  in  my  room. 

His  great  grey  eyes  were  fixed  on  me  all  the  evening,  like  a 
guardian  owl  (not  angel) !  and  he  followed  me  from  room  to  room, 
like  my  shadow  ;  I  made  him  hold  my  bouquet  while  I  danced, 
to  occupy  him,  which  he  did  with  the  most  ridiculous  solemnity, 
like  a  page  of  olden  time.  But,  oh  dear,  I  am  only  putting  off 
painful  recordings  by  telling  nonsense  like  this. 

I  have  been  so  agitated  this  evening  !  I  have  suffered  so  many 
old  feelings  to  assert  their  momentary  sway  over  me,  that  I  feel  self- 
accused  and  confounded  ;  yet  I  will  strike  off  my  impressions  while 
their  vividness  remains,  as  I  am  told  some  theorist  is  trying  to  do 
pictures  and  portraits  by  the  aid  of  sunshine  and  cameras  in  France. 

I  can  judge  better  in  this  way,  when  cooler  moments  arrive, 
whether  I  have  been  wrong  to-night,  or  only  naturally  impulsive. 

I  was  dancing  with  young  Duganne,  when  the  two  Stauntons 
entered,  I  saw  them  through  the  long  vista  of  rooms,  and  grew 
quite  giddy  and  faint  for  a  moment  ;  but  soon  recovering  myself, 
I  was  able  to  disguise  my  feelings,  and  after  the  dance,  to  receive 
Frederick  Staunton  with  self-possession  and  cordiality,  both  I 
think.  At  least  it  was  my  wish  to  blend  the  two. 

Frederick  Staunton  has  improved  very  much  in  appearance 
since  I  saw  him.  His  naturally  fair  complexion  is  weatherbeaten 
now,  and  he  looks  far  more  manly  than  before,  with  his  hand- 
some curling  chesnut  beard  and  whiskers,  which  he  says  he 
suffers  to  grow  to  protect  his  throat  and  face  from  cold,  while 
holding  his  night  watch  at  sea.  Hie,  figure  was  always  fine,  *nl 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVERIK. 

there  is  no  such  dancer  in  the  country.  Certainly  he  is  a  hand 
some  man,  and  I  believe  him  to  be  noble  and  true,  that  he  may 
find  comfort  yet  in  the  love  of  a  fair  woman,  is  my  earnest 
prayer  ;  I  shall  ever  cherish  a  sisterly  affection  for  him,  even  after 
what  has  passed  ;  but  I  thank  heaven  that  my  impulsive  being 
was  not  consigned  to  his  hands  for  safe  keeping.  More  than  for 
most  women  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  honor  as  well  as  to  love  my 
husband  ;  but  I  am  moralizing  instead  of  describing. 

I  danced  twice  with  Frederick  Staunton  before  supper  was 
announced,  and  we  went  into  the  banquet-room  together,  closely 
followed  by  Paul ;  James  Staunton  stood  near  us  at  the  table. 
"  If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  Frederick,"  he  whispered,  "  let 
it  be  said  to-night.  He  will  seek  a  bearer  for  his  challenge 
to-morrow,  I  fear,  for  I  have  declined  the  office,  and  the  matter 
will  thus  be  made,  public."  So  saying,  James  Staunton  disap- 
peared, to  walk  to  Grosvenor,  his  father's  residence,  about  three 
miles  this  side  of  Croften. 

"  He  loves  these  moonlight  walks,"  said  Frederick,  laughing, 
"  grave  sentimentalist  as  he  is  1" 

"  Why,  I  thought  he  was  the  most  practical  of  men,"  I  re- 
turned, "  married  to  the  most  practical  of  women." 

"  Well,  so  he  is,  if  truth  be  told  ;  but  he  prides  himself  on  his 
manly  habit  of  walking  instead  of  riding  whenever  he  can,  and 
imagines  himself  romantic  in  so  doing.  Let  him  remain  under  his 
pleasing  delusion  ;  for  me,  I  prefer  a  fleet  horse  ;  but,  as  I  walked 
with  him  to-night  to  please  him,  I  think  he  should  have  waited  for 
me,  out  of  humanity.  Suppose  this  poor  helpless  '  salt '  were  at- 
tacked by  banditti  going  home  to-night,  perfectly  unarmed  as  he 
Is,  even  with  a  cane,  what  resistance  could  he  make — I  ask  you, 
Mrs.  Bouverie?" 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  289 

"  It  is  scarcely  a  supposable  case,"  I  rejoined,  laughing  ;  "  but 
Frederick,"  I  added,  gravely,  "  you  who  meditate  bloodshed  are 
naturally  haunted  by  such  images."  He  started. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Camilla  ?"  he  asked,  coloring  violently. 

"  Your  good  and  thoughtful  brother  has  warned  me  of  your 
inimical  intentions  toward  my  husband,"  I  said,  firmly,  "  founded 
as  these  are  on  the  death-bed  fantasies  of  a  much  erring  woman, 
and  I  have  come  here  to-night,  in  his  absence,  to  represent  mat- 
ters to  you  calmly,  and  to  appeal  to  your  good  sense,  and  our 
long  intimacy  as  safeguards  against  your  fatal  impetuosity." 

"Camilla,"  he  said,  " I  cannot  see  that  you  have  any  concern 
with  this  business,  it  rests  between  man  and  man.  I  did  not 
dream  you  were  acquainted  with  my  intentions — James  was 
wrong." 

"  James  was  right,"  I  interrupted,  drily  ;  "  he  knew  that  my 
happiness  hung  on  this  matter,  and  its  reasonable  adjustment ;  he 
knew  how  baneful  notoriety  proves  to  the  delicacy  of  every  true 
woman.  He  wished  to  save  me  pain  and  you  remorse." 

This  conversation  had  occurred  in  the  great  hall,  lying  between 
the  supper  and  dancing-rooms,  the  doors  of  which  gave  out  at 
either  end  on  long,  moonlit  porticoes.  We  were  walking  slowly 
up  and  down,  in  the  train  of  many  other  couples,  and  once  or 
twice  heads  were  turned  curiously,  in  passing,  to  catch  the  subject 
of  our  evidently  excited  conversation  ;  no  surmise  could  in  any 
degree  have  approached  the  truth,  yet  to  attract  attention  was 
in  itself  unpleasant  to  me.  Glancing  info  the  banquet-room,  I  saw 
that  Paul  was  standing  with  a  group  of  children  at  the  table, 
eating  his  supper.  We  were  safe  for  a  few  moments  from  his 
watchful  eyes  ;  I  determined  to  conclude  the  discussion  elsewhera 

"  We  will  walk  on  the  gallery  a  few  moments,  Frederick."  T 


290  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVERIK 

said,  "  where  we  shall  not  be  probably  overheard  ;  I  have  a  few 
earnest  words  to  speak  to  you." 

The  sound  of  the  band  recalled  the  stragglers  from  the  porches 
to  take  their  places  in  the  dance,  we  found  ourselves  alone,  at  one 
end  of  the  front  portico,  seventy  feet  long,  standing  by  a  great 
stone  column,  wound  with  ivy,  and  quite  remote  from  the  open 
door  of  the  hall. 

"  I  will  speak  to  you  here,  Frederick,"  I  said,  "  I  will  ask  you 
for  my  sake  not  to  intrude  this  matter  on  public  attention,  nor 
yet  on  my  husband's  notice.  Mr.  Bouverie  has  no  suspicion  yet 
of  Eliza  Jones'  revelations — delirium  I  believe  them  to  have 
sprung  from — I  would  not  wound  him  by  showing  him  her  mad 
letter  to  me,  owning  her  own  treachery,  and  daring  to  fix  its 
chief  odium  on  him  !  He  could  not  bear  such  a  thing — he,  a 
proud  man." 

"Proud,"  he  burst  forth,  striking  his  forehead  passionately 
with  his  hand,  "  proud — he  proud,  Camilla  ?  oh  no,"  with  a  bitter 
laugh  ;  "  proud  men  do  not  stoop  to  robbery  and  assassination. 
He  is  a  Thug,  and  as  such  I  denounce  him.  He  plunged  his 
poisoned  arrow  into  my  life's  blood,  and  turned  it  to  gall.  He  stole, 
like  a  thief  in  the  night,  my  greatest  earthly  treasure,  your  love, 
your  confidence,  Camilla,  dearer  to  me  a  thousand  fold  than  life, 
and  he  shall  not  pass  unpunished." 

"  Frederick,  this  from  you  !  I  could  not  have  believed  it  pos- 
sible that  you  could  so  far  forget  the  gentleman,  the  man  of 
honor,  as  to  assail  a  woman's  ears  with  such  language  about  her 
husband.  I  will  not  stoop  to  ask  grace  of  a  person  capable  of 
such  behavior.  Proceed  as  you  will,  Mr.  Bouverie  will  know 
how  to  meet  you,"  and  I  turned  coldly  away. 

I  was  startled  by  his  pnssionate  despair. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BODVERIB,.  291 

"  Camilla,  return,"  he  said,  securing  both  of  my  hands,  and 
drawing  me  back  into  my  first  position,  against  the  ivy-covered 
column,  while  he  pressed  his  beating  forehead  and  burning  face 
on  my  icy  fingers,  and  tears — scalding  tears— streamed  through 
them  from  his  eyes,  and  convulsed  his  whole  frame. 

"  Camilla  !  sole  idol  of  my  life,"  he  began. 

"  Frederick,"  I  said  gravely,  yet  much  moved,  "  don't  you 
know  that  you  are  injuring  me  by  such  exhibitions  of  emotion  ? 
You  do  not  wish  to  do  this,  I  am  certain.  Let,  me  go,  Frederick, 
our  interview  is  over."  I  spoke  in  low,  calm  accents,  yet  he  still 
clung  to  me.  I  drew  my  hands  violently  from  him  at  last,  and 
in  so  doing  left  my  right  arm  glove  in  his  grasp. 

"I  will  keep  this  glove,"  he  said,  "  at  all  events,  as  a  relic  of 
one  lost  to  me  forever — a  talisman  against  evil — a  sacred  safe- 
guard against  temptation  ;"  and  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  his  brow, 
then  consigned  it  to  his  bosom. 

There  was  a  rustling  among  the  branches  of  the  thick  lilac 
bushes  that  grew  around  the  porch,  at  this  moment,  that  recalled 
me  to  a  stronger  sense  than  ever  of  the  indecorous  nature  of  this 
scene. 

"  Mr.  Staunton,"  I  said  hastily,  "  I  am  displeased  with  you  ; 
we  part  here  forever  unless  you  restore  my  glove." 

"  When  I  saw  you  to-night,"  he  proceeded,  as  if  he  had  not 
heard  my  request,  "  the  centre  of  all  eyes,  more  graceful,  more 
beautiful  than  ever,  if  this  thing  were  possible — you,  my  soul's 
darling  through  long  years — mine,  by  every  right  of  justice  and 
of  feeling — yes,  Camilla,  mine  still  in  the  eyes  of  God  himself. 
When  I  saw  you  as  mortal  eyes  see  spirits,  divided  from  them  by 
impassable  barriers,  yet  lovely  and  attractive  as  when  they  wore 
earthly  guise,  how  could  I  other  than  curse  the  hand  of  steel  that 


292  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVERIE. 

interposed  between  us?  For  you  would  have  been  my  wife 
Camilla,  you  never  would  have  broken  faith  with  me  had  my  let> 
ters  reached  you,  nor  fallen  under  the  evil  influence  of  a  bold, 
bad  man,  fascinating,  yet  unscrupulous  as  Lucifer  himself !  For- 
give me,"  he  said,  impressed,  I  think,  by  my  silence.  "  I  have  done  1" 

"  My  glove,  Mr.  Staunton,"  I  sternly  repeated,  as  if  I  had  not 
heard  his  rhapsody.  He  took  my  extended  hand,  he  pressed  it 
to  his  quivering  and  burning  lips.  His  daring  arm  was  suddenly 
flung  around  me—he  caught  me  to  his  bosom,  and  held  me  there 
one  moment  in  a  wild,  straining  embrace.  Then  bounding  over 
the  railing  of  the  porch  before  I  had  time  to  speak,  to  cry  out, 
to  repulse  him,  even,  he  was  gone ! 

I  turned  into  the  house  pale,  sick,  agitated.  I  met  Paul  in 
the  hall  ;  he  had  been  seeking  me.  I  took  him  by  the  hand,  and 
we  went  silently  to  the  dressing-room  together.  My  carriage 
waited,  I  knew.  As  I  came  down  wrapped  for  departure,  I  was 
met  by  Mr.  Duganne  with  remonstrances  about  my  early  flight. 
"  I  am  sick,"  I  said,  "  Mr.  Duganne  ;  I  cannot  stop  to  apologize 
now,  nor  to  say  good  night  to  the  ladies  ;  please  explain  for  me." 

"  You  really  are  suffering,"  he  said,  kindly  ;  "  your  hand  is  like 
ice.  I  am  afraid  you  have  a  chill ;  had  you  not  better  remain 
all  night  and  have  immediate  attention  ?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !"  I  said,  almost  piteously — pettishly,  even,  I  fear. 
"  Let  me  go,  I  shall  be  better  at  home  ;"  and  with  his  assistance 
I  got  into  the  carriage  and  was  driven  away. 

Paul  had  preceded  me  by  a  few  moments  to  the  coach,  and  lay 
stretched  out  on  the  front  seat.  I  thought  he  was  asleep,  until 
at  a  turn  of  the  road  the  moonlight  revealed  his  great  open  eyes 
He  had  heard  me  weeping.  I  felt  really  ashamed,  yet  there  wag 
delicacy  in  this  silence. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  293 

"  A  man  laid  this  note  on  the  seat  of  the  carriage  before  you 
came  down,  Little  Madam,"  he  said,  as  he  caught  my  eye  ;  "  and 
seeing  me  he  started,  then  asked  me  to  be  sure  and  give  it  to 
jou,"  and  he  handed  me  a  folded  paper. 

"  What  man,  Paul  ?"  I  asked. 

"I  did  not  see  his  face,"  he  answered,  "his  back  was  to 
the  light  ;  but  he  had  curly  hair,  and  no  hat  on.  I  could  see 
that,  and  his  voice  was  choked,  as  if  he  had  been  crying.  I 
don't  see  what  people  call  it  pleasure  to  go  to  balls  for,  when  it 
makes  them  cry  so." 

I  crumpled  the  note  in  my  hand.  My  first  impulse  was  to  toss 
it  out  of  the  window,  but  second  thought  convinced  me  that  it 
would  be  wiser  to  keep  than  destroy  or  expose  its  contents. 

"You  will  not  speak  of  this  note,  Paul,"  I  faltered  at  last, 
" not  at  least  until  I  give  you  permission.  Promise  me,  Paul?" 

"  I  will  mind  what  you  say,  Little  Madam,"  he  said,  in  his 
strange,  old-fashioned  way,  as  if  a  man's  nature  were  speaking 
through  the  lips  of  a  child. 

"  After  a  while,"  I  added,  "  I  will  have  no  secrets,  and  then  I 
will  read  it  myself  to  Mr.  Bouverie  ;  but  for  his  good,  Paul,  he 
must  not  know  this  now." 

"  Show  it  to  Bishop  Clare  ;  that  will  answer,"  he  said,  drily. 

"  Yes,  he  shall  see  it,  Paul,  as  soon  as  he  returns  ;  in  the 
meanwhile,  I  do  not  know  myself  what  it  contains." 

"  A  secret  paper,  no  doubt,"  he  observed,  in  his  quaint  way. 
"  I  have  a  pocketful  of  them  myself  to-night,  for  somebody,  but 
I  think  they  are  foolish  things." 

"  You  like  the  sugar  plums  they  wrap  much  better,  Paul,"  I 
said,  laughing  ;  "  you  eat  the  comfits  and  keep  the  papers  for  me, 
i«  that  the  way  you  divide,  Quintil  ?" 


294  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOUVKEIE. 

t:  It  is  the  way  all  men  divide  with  women,"  he  answered,  with 
that  weird  phlegm,  that  absolutely  frightens  me  sometimes  in  this 
boy. 

"  But  if  we  Jive,"  he  added  ;  "  I  will  try  and  do  better  for  you 
after  awhile.  Mr.  Bouverie  will  not  live  to  be  old  ;  he  is  very 
ihin  now,  and  then  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  marry  you  I"  with 
a  deep  sigh — almost  a  groan. 

"  You  ridiculous  imp,"  I  could  not  help  saying,  half  provoked; 
"  what  put  that  idea  into  your  head  ?" 

"  Luther  is  married  now,  himself,  I  suppose,"  he  replied  ; 
"  and  I  do  not  know  where  else  you  could  get  a  husband,  when 
you  are  a  widow,  if  your  husband's  wards  did  not  offer  them- 
selves !  You  are  getting  quite  old  now." 

I  declare  I  do  not  understand  this  child,  never  shall,  I  believe 
He  is  either  an  inspired  idiot,  as  Dr.  Johnson  called  Goldsmith, 
or  the  most  wonderful  humorist  imaginable.  I  half  believe  he 
enjoys  mystifying  me,  young  as  he  is,  and  laughing  at  my  sim- 
plicity 1 

As  soon  as  I  reached  my  chamber,  I  read  the  hasty  lines  that 
Frederick  Staunton  had  written  imploring  my  forgiveness,  and 
promising  to  comply  with  my  request.  Thank  God  for  this  at 
least !  My  husband's  peace  is  saved.  But  my  poor  Frederick, 
you  have  lost  me  now  forever — for  the  first  time  ;  we  can  never 
exchange  another  word  on  earth — and  yet  I  shall  ever  love  you, 
and  pray  for  your  happiness  and  safety. 


June. 

A  month  has  elapsed  since  I  opened  my  diary,  and  I  have  grown 
old  since  then.     I  am  thin  weak,  and  trembling  still,  and  my  long 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          295 

hair  has  all  been  cut  away.     Dr.  Moore  says,  I  have  had  brain- 
fever.     It  began  thus  : 

The  night  of  Mrs.  Duganne's  party,  I  sat  up  late,  writing,  and 
then  went  to  bed  and  slept  heavily.  I  was  aroused  about  day- 
light by  a  noise  as  of  shutters  opened,  and  raising  my  head  I  saw 
that  one  of  the  Venetian  leaves  of  the  bow-window  had  been  left 
ajar  ;  when  I  awoke,  the  sunlight  poured  through  the  open  win- 
dow. Paul  was  dressed  and  gone,  and  Biauca  was  moving  about 
the  room.  Suddenly  I  screamed,  and  sprang  up  in  my  bed — a 
bloody  glove  was  lying  on  the  pillow  beside  me.  I  saw  it  dis- 
tinctly— the  hand,  wet  with  crimson  gore,  the  upper  part  still 
white,  with  the  letters  C.  B.  worked  in  white  silk  by  my  own 
fingers.  My  wedding-glove,  the  same  I  had  worn  the  night 
before  to  the  ball — and  oh,  God,  the  right-hand  glove  !  I  cannot 
be  mistaken. 

I  called  Bianca  and  made  her  bring  me  its  fellow  from  the 
table  where  I  had  thrown  it  on  my  return.  I  compared  them — 
there  they  were,  left  and  right.  A  sudden  frenzy  swept  through 
me.  "  He  is  dead  1"  I  shrieked  ;  "  he  has  killed  himself,  and 
sent  back  my  glove  in  his  last  despair.  Oh,  Bianca  !  where  is 
the  messenger  that  brought  this  terrible  token  ?  Call  him  tome; 
let  me  know  all  1" 

"  No  messenger  has  been  here — no  one  is  dead  that  I  have 
heard  of,"  she  answered,  ia.  her  gentle  way.  "  Dear  Miss 
Camilla,  have  you  been  dreaming  about  my  master  ?" 

"  Look  at  the  glove,"  I  said  ;  "  and  tell  me  where  it  came 
from,  if  you  do  not  wish  to  madden  me." 

"  I  can't  tell,  I  am  sure  !  I  never  saw  it  before,"  she  said, 
trembling  violently  ;  then  taking  it  in  her  hand,  she  murmured— 
"  It  is  wet  with  blood  1" 


296  THE    HOUSKHOJLD   OF   BOUVKK1E. 

"  Take  it  away,"  I  said,  with  ghastly  composure  ;  "  aud  never 
let  me  see  it  again.  Do  you  hear,  Biauca  ?  Stay,  let  no  one  see 
it,  not  even  Paul  — and  send — no,  never  mind,"  I  added,  as  the 
conviction  flashed  over  me,  that  such  inquiry  might  awaken 
unjust  suspicion  ;  "  we  shall  hear  soon  enough — soon  enough,  if 
indeed  this  be  not  a  bitter  and  unprincipled  conspiracy  to  make 
me  suffer  !" 

Bianca  passed  out  of  iny  sight,  still  holding  the  glove  ;  yet 
she  has  forgotten  all  this  now — and  my  husband  thinks  I  was 
delirious  then  !  They  both  declare  nothing  of  this  kind  ever 
could  have  occurred  ;  yet,  I  know  I  was  perfectly  composed  for 
hours  after,  until  the  tramping  of  those  rapid  hoofs  was  heard, 
and  the  news  was  brought  officially  ;  yes,  written  in  James 
Staunton's  own  bold  hand,  and  directed  to  me,  Camilla  Bouverie. 

The  few  large  words  seem  staring  at  me  yet  in  terrible  distinct- 
ness, wherever  I  turn. 

"  Camilla,  my  brother  has  been  murdered  ;  but  by  whom  we 
can  only  conjecture." 

Oh,  my  God  !  what  wonder  that  I  fainted  then — and  woke  to 
fall  again  into  dream-like  lethargy,  and  fever,  and  fierce  delirium. 

Days  had  passed  before  my  senses  returned.  I  revived  to  find 
my  husband  and  Dr.  Moore  beside  me.  Through  their  inde- 
fatigable care  my  life  had  been  saved.  Mr.  Bouverie  came  back 
three  days  after  the  murder — the«author  of  which  has  not  yet 
been  detected. 

My  husband,  knowing  nothing  of  the  truth,  considers  the  vision 
of  the  glove  to  have  been  a  sort  of  second  sight,  a  warning  of 
the  fate  of  Frederick  Staunton,  whom  he  sincerely  deplores,  not- 
withstanding his  opinion  of  his  conduct  to  me,  and  whose  inten- 
tions toward  himself  he  shall  never  know 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEUIE.  297 

But  I  cannot  think  this,  I  must  believe  that  some  wretch  who 
witnessed  the  scene  on  the  porch  has  found  means  of  sending 
the  glove  to  me,  after  the  murder,  adding  mockery  to  crime, 
perhaps  himself  the  slayer. 

James  Staunton  is  almost  distracted  they  say,  accusing  every 
one  wildly,  even  his  nearest  friends,  of  the  murder  ;  but  I  have  not 
heard  whom  by  name — a  sort  of  general  fury  possesses  him,  Mr. 
Bouverie  says — I  want  him  to  call  at  Grosvenor,  but  he  thinks  he 
can  not  leave  me  yet.  He  will  go  later  he  promises. 

James  Staunton's  conduct  has  been  unaccountable  indeed,  but 
it  reflects  on  no  one  but  himself.  I  should  not  have  known  a 
word  about  it,  had  I  not  picked  up  a  country  newspaper,  a  fort- 
night old-^all  this  occurred  during  my  illness.  The  paper  speaks 
of  the  malignity  of  his  attempt  to  ruin  Mr.  Bouverie,  they  are  of 
opposite  parties,  and  it  is  thought  this  operated  with  him.  "  At 
all  events,"  the  writer  says,  "  the  evil  has  recoiled  on  its  author, 
and  there  let  it  abide  forever." 

I  hear  that  Mr.  Bouverie's  friends  brought  him  home  in  tri- 
umph, when  the  grand  jury  refused  to  find  a  true  bill  against  him  ! 
Oh  1  to  think,  to  think,  that  my  noble  husband  has  been  attainted, 
for  murder  !  Oh,  merciful  heaven,  how  bitter  was  this  trial  to  a 
proud,  unconscious,  unoffending  man  I  I  cannot  conceive  how 
he  bears  it  so  firmly.  I  am  lost  in  admiration  of  his  magnanimity, 
he  will  not  even  suffer  me  to  abuse  James  Staunton  before  him  ! 
He  desires  that  the  subject  may  be  dropped  between  us  forever. 
I  obey. 

Avff»»t. 

Mr.  Bouverie  has  desired  me  to  sew  up  one  hole  in  the  bosom 
of  each  of  his  shirts,  as  he  has  lost  one  of  his  three  beautiful  studs  j 


298  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

doves  made  of  emeralds,  with  open  wings  and  diamond  eyes,  ex 
quisite  little  bijoux  they  were.  I  should  not  have  mentioned  this 
trifling  matter  here,  perhaps,  but  I  am  so  grieved  !  I  have  found 
the  missing  stud,  carefully  put  away  in  Paul  Quintil's  paint-box, 
and  Mr.  Bouverie  is  confident  he  dropped  it  during  his  absence 
I  know  he  wore  them  all  away  ;  I  have  not  told  him  of  this,  I 
will  question  Paul  privately  ;  could  he  have  picked  it  up  on  his 
way  to  school,  and  kept  it,  knowing,  as  he  must  have  done,  to 
whom  it  belonged  ?  I  cannot  bear  to  think  my  good  boy  would 
be  guilty  of  such  a  meanness,  next  to  a  theft.  This  evening  I 
Bhall  know  all  about  it.  Patience  until  then. 

I  have  told  Mr.  Bouverie  my  heart  secret,  he  seems  appalled 
at  the  idea  that  my  illness  may  cause  injury  to  our  child.  1  am 
disappointed  that  he  rejoices  with  me  so  little.  He  does  not 
conceal  from  me,  that  his  hope  had  been  that  we  should  have  no 
,  family.  "  Husband  and  wife  never  love  each  other  so  entirely 
afterward,"  he  says  ;  but  I  cannot  agree  with  him.  I  think  it  pos- 
sible he  would  be  more  dear  to  me  as  the  father  of  my  child,  than 
he  is  even  now,  idolized  almost  as  he  knows  himself  to  be.  Poor 
Frederick  !  my  heart  grows  sick  whenever  I  think  of  him  and  his 
terrible  fate  !  His  murderer  will  be  punished  yet.  God  is  just, 
and  crimes  work  to  the  surface. 


Oh,  heavenly  Father,  pity  me — sweet  Mary — holy  Jesus  have 
mercy  on  my  sufferings  !  I  am  too  miserable  to  live.  Fight  as  I 
will  against  it,  the  horrible  conviction  comes  back,  almost  like 
madness.  The  little  child  th#t  never  spokfe  falsely  in  his  life  tells 
me  that  he  picked  up  the  stud  by  the  foot  of  his  bed,  the  morning 
after  Mrs.  Duganne's  party,  before  I  awoke.  He  saw  it  spark- 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.  299 

ling  by  the  red  light  that  came  through  the  open  shutter  when 
he  opened  his  eyes,  and  meant  to  restore  it  to  me,  but  went  to 
school  before  he  had  an  opportunity.  When  he  returned  I  was 
ill,  he  alleges. 

"  And  why  did  you  not  bring  it  to  me,  Paul,  long  afterward  ?" 
I  said,  with  ashen  lips. 

"  Because,  madam,  I  did  not  wish  you  to  know,  after  we  heard 
of  Frederick  Staunton's  murder,  what  I  knew." 

"  What  was  that,  Quintil?"  I  whispered,  like  one  in  a  dreary 
dream,  gasping  and  oppressed,  my  hand  to  my  brow. 

"  That  Mr.  Bouverie  had  been  here  that  morning,  before  day- 
break," he  said,  in  a  low,  reluctant  voice. 

"  Oh,  Paul,"  I  groaned,  "  never  say  that  again,  or  you  will 
see  me  die  before  you  ;  say  anything  else,  Paul  !  That  you 
dreamed  it,  tell  me  you  found  the  stud  in  the  road,  that  you  for- 
got you  had  put  it  away,  while  I  was  sick,  that  you  picked  it  up 
in  the  garden,  but  not  in  this  room,  if  you  love  me  ;  do  not  tell 
me  you  found  it  here,  Paul "  He  was  silent,  his  little  face  quiver- 
ing and  blue  with  pain. 

"  Speak  to  me,"  I  said,  "  Paul,  tell  me  something  else  about  it ; 
something  different,  you  know  Mr.  Bouverie  wasn't  here,  you 
were  only  dreaming,  Paul." 

"  I  will  not  tell  a  lie,"  he  said,  "  I  am  afraid  God  would  be  so 
angry ;  neither  will  I  tell  you  the  truth  again  ;  I  will  never  tell 
you  any  more,  nor  any  one  else,  while  I  live,  about  the  matter, 
but,  Little  Madam,  I  knew  it  all  the  tune." 

"What  did  you  mean  to  do  with  the  stud,  Paul,"  I 
asked,  in  calm  accents  of  extremest  anguish,  after  a  long,  long 
silence. 

'•'  To  give  it  back  to  Mr.  Bouverie,  and  tell  him  I  found  it, 
29 


300  THK  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

after  a  while,  wheu  I  would  not  have  to  make  up  a  lie  about  it, 
when  ht  had  forgotten  the  matter." 

"Do  so  still,"  I  said,  "  Quiutil,  but  wait  years  rather  than  be- 
tray your  knowledge,  or  it  will  fare  ill  with  you,  ill  indeed  ;  or 
stay,  give  it  to  me,"  and  I  flung  it  through  the  open  window  into 
the  grass.  "  Let  it  lie  there  forever,  wash  your  hands  of  it  alto- 
gether. I  have  no  doubt  Mr. .  Bouverie  lost  it  before  he  left 
home,  and  had  forgotten  the  circumstance,"  I  added,  hurriedly. 

The  large  clear  eye  of  the  child  dwelt  on  me  one  moment,  as 
if  surprised,  then  drooped  beneath  its  long  lashes,  confounded  by 
the  calm  agony  of  my  gaze.  The  subject  can  never  be  resumed 
between  us.  He  will  never  breathe  it  10  any  one  else,  I  know ; 
but  this  is  not  enough  ;  oh  I  not  enougli  1  Despair  has  entered 
my  heart.  Where  shall  I  turn  ?  From  whom  ask  counsel  ? 
I  cannot  even  to  Bishop  Clare  reveal  my  dark  misgivings. 

I  have  destroyed  Frederick  Staunton's  note,  so  innocent  in 
itself,  which  I  meant  to  show  to  him.  I  must  never  relate  that 
interview,  or  anything  connected  with  Eliza  Jones,  for  fear  of 
arousing  suspicion.  Her  letter  and  the  package  it  contained  shall 
go  into  the  fire,  and  I  will  lock  this  diary  away  where  no  human 
eye  can  see  it,  until  I  am  dead.  Then  read  and  pity  me,  oh  1 
kindred  heart. 


It  is  autumn  again  ;  the  branches  of  the  trees,  covered  with 
parti-colored  foliage,  strain  mournfully  in  the  east  wind  to-day. 
The  grass,  still  green,  is  strewn  with  yellow  leaves,  the  blighted 
flower-stalks  stand  grimly  in  the  flower-beds.  A  few  late  roses 
still  struggle  into  partial  bloom,  but  our  glorious  summer  and  fall 
garden  is  with  the  past. 

What  a  resource  a  greenhouse  would  be  to  me  1     But  Mr. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          301 

Bouverie  says  it  is  not  worth  while  to  build  one  here,  as  we  shall 
henceforth  pass  eight  months  of  the  year  in  Washington.  His 
engagements  with  government  require  his  presence  there,  and  my 
place  is  by  his  side. 

I  was  thinking  to-day  of  my  singularly  friendless  condition.  1 
have  no  relations,  however  distant,  that  I  know  of.  I  am  cut  off, 
by  the  nature  of  things,  from  the  nearest  intimacy  I  ever  had 
out  of  my  own  family,  and  my  husband  long  ago  exacted  a 
promise  from  me  that  I  would  form  no  new  ones.  Paul  Quin- 
tilian  is  the  only  creature  save  Mr.  Bouverie  that  I  can  rely  on, 
and  he  is  to  me  indeed  dear  as  a  younger  brother.  My  own 
Charlie  would  have  been  just  about  his  age  now,  had  he  lived. 
His  death  broke  my  dear  mother's  heart,  so  I  was  left  alone  with 
cross — kind  (which  shall  I  call  him  ?)  old  uncle  Bouverie  ! 

Yet  no  woman  ever  had  a  more  devoted  husband  than  I  have, 
and  that  is  worth  everything  beside.  When  I  look  back  over 
the  past  summer,  and  remember  how  severely  I  have  tried  his 
patience  often,  I  can  but  think  his  conduct  has  been  sublime. 

I  struggled  so  long  under  that  horrible  nightmare  that  beset 
me,  and  which,  right  or  wrong,  I  have  determined  to  put  under 
foot  forever — for  it  has  become  a  choice  between  such  repudia- 
tion and  madness  with  me  now,  and  I  eagerly  embrace  the  first 
alternative. 

How  sorrowfully  he  looked  at  me  sometimes,  when,  with  shud- 
dering hands  I  would  put  his  embrace  aside — or  fall  suddenly 
weeping  and  agonized  at  his  knees,  like  one  utterly  hopeless  and 
despairing. 

He  never  upbraided  or  questioned  me  once — never  sneered  as 
he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  doing  before,  at  my  emotion  ;  but 
tenderly  consoled  me  and  forbore  !  Sometimes  it  was  on  my  lips 


302  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

to  tell  him  what  oppressed  me,  and  to  beg  him  for  the  truth  ;  but 
he  gave  me  no  opportunity  to  do  this.  The  slightest  remonstrance 
• — the  least  interrogation  on  his  part  would  have  brought  every- 
thing to  light.  Alas,  alas  !  he  never  wanted  me  to  speak,  only 
to  bear,  and  be  patient,  only  to  forget,  and  to  be  reconciled 
to  the  inevitable  !  And  this  wise  course,  with  God's  help,  I  am 
pursuing. 


When  I  put  aside  the  volume  of  crimson  and  gold,  hi  which  so 
much  happiness,  so  much  sorrow,  such  unparalleled  horrors  were 
recorded,  I  thought  I  had  done  with  diaries  !  But  I  cannot  live 
without  some  outlet  for  my  feelings.  God  is  so  distant,  the 
Virgin  hears  but  replies  not.  Our  Saviour  is  too  majestic,  has 
seen  too  much  sorrow  to  be  assailed  with  a  weak  woman's  daily 
complaint — and  earthly  aid  I  have  none  !  I  must  do  like  a 
lonelj  child,  and  talk  to  myself ;  and  "  make-believe  "  sympathy 
and  companionship,  and  to  fill  this  great  void  in  my  being,  I 
have  taken  to  my  bosom  another  diary,  a  sober  book,  bound  hi 
plain  black  morocco,  and  fastened  with  a  clasp  of  steel  instead  of 
gold,  a  stern  and  mournful  volume,  like  its  writer. 

I  have  just  recovered  from  long  illness  again.  I  know  not 
why  I  have  delayed  to  speak  of  this  before — it  certainly  was 
nearest  my  heart  with  its  sorrowful  occasion,  and  its  woeful  dis- 
appointment all  the  time.  My  baby  was  born,  a  daughter,  as  I 
wished  it,  and  perfectly  formed  •  but,  oh  !  so  fearfully  marked  ! 
The  thumb  of  a  bloody  hand  seemed  to  have  rested  on  its  fore- 
head, and  the  four  fingers  on  its  left  cheek,  distinct,  and  crimson 
as  flame.  The  curse  of  the  bloody  glove  had  descended  to  my 
poor  innocent  one.  I  was  so  ill  at  the  birth  that  they  did  not 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  303 

show  it  to  me  for  some  hours  afterward.  I  screamed  and  shud- 
dered, and  hid  my  face  in  the  bed-clothes,  when  I  saw  it, 
and  afterward  fever  rose,  and  I  was  deirious  for  days. 
When  I  returned  to  consciousness,  they  told  me  as  gently  as  they 
could,  that  my  baby  was  dead. 

Oh  1  better  so,  perhaps,  better  so,  for  her  own  sweet  sake, 
than  to  bear  a  brand  of  shame  and  sorrow  all  her  days,  for  no 
fault  of  hers.  I  see  now,  for  the  first  time,  the  Bible  meaning — 
of  the  sins  of  the  father  descending  to  the  children.  Paul  never 
saw  my  baby — but  he  has  planted  lily  of  the  valley  bulbs  all 
around  the  little  grave  in  the  garden,  where  they  laid  her,  the 
sinless,  the  nameless,  little  one. 


I  find  that  since  my  convalescence,  Mr.  Bouverie,  notwith- 
standing his  strong  English  prejudices  against  the  race,  has  re- 
called my  mother's  black  cook,  Aunt  Furness,  and  that  Dame 
McCormick  singularly  and  suddenly  disappeared  soon  after  my 
confinement.  It  is  supposed  the  poor  old  woman  has  had  letters 
from  her  truant  son,  and  has  gone  off  to  join  him  ;  what  a  wild- 
goose  expedition,  for  a  deaf  and  rheumatic  person,  already 
beyond  middle  life  ! 

For  my  own  part,  I  prefer  negroes  as  servants,  having  been 
reared  as  a  child  among  domestics  of  this  color,  who,  with  the 
exception  of  Bianca,  composed  my  mother's  household.  I  never 
thought  the  sending  them  to  Liberia,  as  Mr.  Bouverie  insisted  on 
doing  all  of  mine  that  would  go,  was  any  mercy  or  real  benefit  to 
them— and  the  matter  is  proving  the  sagacity  of  my  instinct 
already,  above  his  polished  judgment  on  this  occasion,  for  ten  of 
the  fifteen  are  dead  in  one  year,  and  the  remainder  discontented, 


304          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEREE. 

yet  unwilling  to  return,  as  they  have  some  prejudice  about 
"  retracing  their  steps,  and  putting  on  the  yoke  again  !"  as  if 
negroes  ever  used  such  language  !  Aunt  Furness,  whose  children, 
with  one  exception,  belonged  to  other  masters,  stoutly  entered  her 
protest  against  going,  and  has  been  hired  out  ever  since  until  now. 
She  comes  home  willingly  ;  and  I  am  so  glad  to  have  her  again. 

Dr.  Luther  Quintilian  has  been  appointed  to  fill  the  chair  of  his 
father-in-law,  the  Leyden  professor,  lately  dead,  and  is  spoken  of 
in  the  papers  as  a  man  of  marked  ability.  I  believe  he  is  profes- 
sor of  physiology,  or  some  such  thing. 

I  am  afraid  I  am  very  matter-of-fact.  I  never  could  see  much 
use  in  all  these  ologies,  nor  how  the  least  possible  interest  could 
be  attached  to  them.  Science  would  have  been  at  a  stand-still 
to  this  time,  I  fear,  had  there  not  been  better  materials  in  the 
world  than  can  be  found  ;n  my  poor  head  ;  but  arts  would  have 
flourished  well  enough  ! 

I  think  I  might  have  made  a  good  musician,  I  never  shall  now, 
and  I  have  unusual  skill  at  the  needle  ;  I  am  not  very  fond  of 
reading  unless  it  be  biography  or  fiction,  and  (tell  no  one,  dear 
Diary,  not  even  your  successor),  to  me,  most  poetry  is  a  positive 
dead  bore.  What  a  wife  I  am,  for  a  man  of  cultivation,  beyond 
which  "  on  ne  peut  plus  1" 

At  all  events,  I  am  his  life,  his  heart's  blood,  I  know  that 
well,  and  we  might  be  so  happy,  if  I  had  no  memory.  Oh, 
little  Paul !  what  sorrow  your  revelation  has  made  !  But  I  will, 
I  must  discard  the  whole  matter  ;  the  room  had  been  badly 
ewept,  the  broom  had  dragged  the  jewel  from  its  hiding-place  of 
weeks  before,  and  left  it  exposed  !  Bianca  is  near-sighted — care« 
less  sometimes.  I  often  do  her  work  over  when  she  has  gone  out, 
rather  than  scold  her.  He  never  brought  that  token  of  evil  and 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.  305 

blood  to  me — oh,  no  !  he  knew  nothing  of  the  matter  until  he 
returned,  and  I,  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  have  hatched  treason 
against  him. 

Oh,  guardian  saints — holy  Virgin — Jesus,  my  divine  Lord, 
remove  this  sorrow  from  my  life,  and  pluck  forth  this  madness  ! 
for  such  I  sometimes  believe  it  to  be,  from  my  heart,  even  to  my 
own  humiliation. 


January  1st 
TWO    YEARS    LATER. 

We  go  next  week  to  Washington,  and  close  Bouverie  until 
June.  I  have  been  extremely  reluctant  to  leave  my  home,  but  as 
the  tune  approaches  I  begin  to  think  this  arrangement  is  best  for 
me.  I  shall  never  rally  here,  where  the  fingers  of  that  bloody 
hand  clutched  my  very  heart-strings.  I  must  go  away,  see  new 
scenes,  new  faces,  and  try  and  forget 

I  am  not  twenty  years  of  age  ;  yet,  as  Paul  said,  I  am  old 
already,  so  much  have  I  suffered  and  endured.  My  very  tone 
of  voice  has  changed,  I  think,  and  has  a  pathetic  sound  to  my 
own  ear.  Mr.  Bouverie  pities  me,  I  know,  yet  he  never  says  one 
word  that  could  lead  me  to  suppose  he  had  ever  observed  my 
depression,  and  evident  anxiety. 

Bishop  Clare  has  been  here,  to  say  farewell,  and  to  hear  my 
confession.  He  seemed  surprised  at  the  magnitude  and  number 
of  the  transgressions  I  laid  before  him,  "neglect  of  duty,  unrea- 
sonable discontent,  apathy,  indolence,  unnecessary  severity  of 
speech,  indulgence  in  tears,  and  wrong  suspicions,"  and  I  cannot 
tell  how  many  other  offences  of  the  same  order. 

He  looked  very  grave  when  I  concluded,  and  begged  me,  for 
my  own  sake,  to  contend  against  these  growing  evils,  and  to 


306  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

seek  the  consolation  of  prayer  frequently,  especially  through  the 
blessed  Virgin,  the  friond  of  all  desolate  women  !  but  he  has 
enjoined  no  penance,  and  is  very  kind  and  fatherly  to  me,  who 
never  knew  an  earthly  father. 

I  was  on  the  point  of  telling  him  everything  more  than  once  ; 
but  I  remembered  that  I  had  promised  myself  not  to  do  this,  at 
present,  at  all  events.  If  he  outlives  me,  he  will  read  my  diary, 
from  first  to  last,  and  judge  me  more  from  the  intentions  than 
from  the  acts  of  my  impulsive  life. 


Paul  is  now  eleven  years  old,  and  Mr.  Bouverie  means  to  send 
him  to  a  capital  school  at  Chapel  Hill,  where  he  will  begin  his 
classical  studies.  J  am  very  loath  to  part  with  him  ;  but  I  know 
it  is  for  his  good  to  go.  He  will  come  to  us  in  Washington, 
during  whiter  vacations,  and  at  Easter,  and  spend  part  of  his 
summer  at  Bouverie,  and  I  shall  visit  him  when  I  can.  He  is  a 
dear  boy,  and  we  have  borne  sorrow  together,  of  no  ordinary 
description. 

Discretion  could  go  no  further  than  in  this  remarkable  child, 
and  then  he  is  such  a  self-sacrificing  little  fellow  !  Yery  intelli- 
gent too,  and  beyond  all  other  boys  I  have  seen  in  comprehension 
tmd  reasoning  powers  ;  I  think  he  would  make  a  great  lawyer  or 
divine,  but  he  has  a  strong  proclivity  for  the  medical  profession. 
He  is  to  have  a  pony  when  he  comes  back  to  Bouverie,  and  I 
promised  to  take  his  little  dog  Clarice  with  me  to  Washington, 
and  take  care  of  her  myself  ;  I  am  foolishly  fond  of  this  beautiful 
little  creature,  the  survivor  of  a  pair  of  Italian  greyhounds 
Luther  Quintiliau  sent  Paul,  a  year  ago.  He  could  not  make 
her  comfortable  at  school,  even  if  he  were  permitted  to  take  her 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.  307 

with  him,  which  the  rules  forbid.  She  requires  nice  attention,  a 
warm  basket  by  the  fire,  and  cake,  and  cream,  and  a  little  rabbit 
skin  coverlet  to  sleep  under,  and  sometimes  medicine,  and  good 
nursing  to  keep  her  alive,  she  is  so  delicate.  Ever  since  my  poor 
mocking-bird  died  so  suddenly — so  unaccountably  !  (well  in  the 
evening  as  it  was,  and  dead  on  its  perch  in  the  morning),  I  have 
taken  to  petting  Clarice,  and,  I  am  not  ashamed  to  confess,  that 
I  do  love  the  creature  dearly. 

We  shall  take  Bianca,  and  Jenkins,  and  Gabriel  to  Washing- 
ton. Aunt  Furness  will  stay  at  Bouverie,  with  Mr.  Grant,  the 
gardener,  to  keep  everything  in  order.  "  Let  me  see  plenty  of 
little  ducks  when  I  come  home  in  May  to  look  round,"  I  said. 
"  Aunt  Furness,  ducklings  are  my  weakness — my  delight." 

"  I  taught  you,  ferred  de  chicken  meat,  Miss  Milla  ;  I  always 
hear  Gabe  say  you  wouldn't  tetch  no  black  meat  whatsomever." 

"  La  !  Aunt  Furness  !  I  only  want  to  see  the  ducks  ;  I  love 
them  too  much  to  eat  them." 

"  Oh,  go  'long,  Miss  Milla  !  I  reckon  you  like  most  of  de 
odder  white  folks,  you  loves  de  bes  dars  gwine ;  and  when  de 
time  comes,  dem  lubly  ducks  will  go  to  de  spit,  for  comply,  eben 
if  you  don't  fancy  dere  dark  meat  yourself ;  whare's  your  love  den, 
Miss  Milla,  and  what's  it  worth  ?" 

And  the  old  humorist,  in  her  line,  turned  away,  shaking  her 
sides  with  laughter. 

Mr.  Bouverie  would  have  been  very  much  provoked  had  he 
heard  this  conversation.  He  cannot  understand  negro  peculiar! 
ties,  and  that  they  can  be  familiar  without  being  disrespectful. 
The  very  impassable  distance  that  color  and  bondage  makes,  ren- 
ders endurable  from  them  freedoms  that  no  white  domestic  could 
take  without  manifest  impropriety. 


308  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

For  my  part,  I  enjoy  a  jest  with  Aunt  Fatness  occasionally, 
and  it  does  me  good  to  see  her  stand  with  her  arms  akimbo,  and 
shifting  her  old  pipe,  indulge  in  a  good,  hearty  contagious  laugh. 
She  tells  me  stories,  too,  about  my  father  and  mother,  forgotten 
by  every  one  else,  and  full  of  interest  to  me.  Gabriel,  her  sou, 
the  only  child  of  hers  I  own,  is  very  trying,  but  his  mammy  keeps 
him  in  order  here.  I  am  afraid  he  will  be  unbearable  in  Wash- 
ington, where  there  will  be  no  terror  of  the  rod  before  his  eyes. 
I  may  do  the  imp  injustice,  but  I  shrewdly  suspect  him  of  poison- 
ing my  mocking-bird,  and  have  had  a  sort  of  horror  of  him  evtr 
since.  Yet  he  is  generally  a  good-natured  creature. 


March. 

We  have  been  in  Washington  a  few  weeks,  and  are  well  fixed 
in  our  pleasant  city  mansion,  but  a  slight  circumstance  has  thrown 
a  cloud  over  the  commencement  of  our  new  career,  which,  weak 
as  it  may  seem,  I  have  so  far  striven  hi  vain  to  shake  aside.  My 
poor  little  Clarice  is  dead  1  This  is  not  all.  I  am  pretty  sure 
my  husband  killed  her.  I  ought  to  have  observed  that  he  did 
not  like  to  see  me  so  taken  up  with  the  affectionate  little  crea- 
ture ;  but  it  was  not  altogether  on  her  own  account  I  loved 
her  so. 

She  seemed  a  link  between  me  and  darling  Paul,  whose  whole 
value  I  never  knew  until  separation  taught  it  to  me  ;  and  I  never 
could  bear  to  repel  her  innocent  caresses,  for  his  sake.  Then  I 
felt  so  responsible  for  her  safety,  having  promised  to  take  care  of 
her,  and  she  was  getting  along  so  well.  Nor  is  it  her  death 
alone,  even  under  all  these  considerations,  that  pains  me  so  vitally. 
It  is  that  Mr.  Bouverie  should  have  been  cruel  and  perfidious 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          309 

enough  to  destroy  her  (as  I  know  he  did),  and  so  bring  all  the 
past  fresh  before  me,  with  the  insidious  train  of  reasoning,  that 
links  one  act  to  the  other,  and  clutches  the  bloody  hand  again 
about  my  heart. 

I  had  gone  downstairs,  with  my  bonnet  and  cloak  on,  to  drive 
out,  had  opened  the  front  door,  when  I  remembered  that  I  had 
left  my  purse  and  card-case  on  the  toilet  in  my  dressing-room.  I 
returned  the  nearest  way,  and  found  the  missing  articles,  and  was 
just  about  to  run  downstairs  again,  when  I  saw  Mr.  Bouveric 
reflected  in  the  mirror,  from  the  bed-chamber,  the  door  of  which 
stood  open,  pouring  a  white  powder  into  a  saucer.  He  had  not 
heard  my  steps  on  the  thick  carpet  of  the  dressing-room  floor, 
and  was  unconscious  of  my  presence.  He  stepped  from  his  posi- 
tion, and  I  lost  sight  of  him  ;  yet  still  I  stood  transfixed.  In 
another  moment  I  heard  Clarice  lapping.  I  flew  into  the 
room.  Mr.  Bouverie  was  standing  on  the  hearth,  watching  her 
as  she  lapped  her  cream.  I  jerked  the  saucer  away,  and  threw 
the  contents  into  the  fire,  the  utensil  itself  falling  on  the  hearth, 
and  shivering  to  pieces,  from  my  nervous  fingers.  I  seized  my 
little  dog  wildly,  and  clasped  her  in  my  arms. 

"  Evastus,"  I  said,  "  what  has  Clarice  done,  that  you  should 
try  to  injure  her  ?" 

I  felt  that  my  eyes  flashed  fire.     He  turned  ghastly  pale. 

"What  do  you  mean  !"  he  said.  "Are  you  deranged?  Do 
you  suppose  I  have  the  evil  eye  that  I  cannot  watch  your  dog 
teed  without  injuring  her  ?" 

"  She  is  in  spasms  now,"  I  cried,  feeling  her  struggle  wildly. 
"  For  pity's  sake,  Erastus,  give  her  an  antidote — you  can— you 
must !  Oh,  spare  the  little  creature  that  loved  me  so — restore 
her,  Bouverie  !" 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

I  might  as  well  have  pleaded  to  stone.     He  turned  coldly  away 

"  If  you  choose  to  over-feed  your  dog,  and  kill  her  with  kind- 
ness, it  is  no  reason  I  should  be  insulted  by  base  suspicions  like 
these." 

And  so  saying,  he  left  the  room,  the  house.  I  heard  the  front 
door  slam  heavily  after  him.  I  laid  my  poor  little  trembling 
dog  in  her  warm  basket.  I  rang  for  Gabriel,  and  dismissed 
the  carriage  ;  then  throwing  off  my  wrappings,  I  sat  down, 
dressed  as  I  was,  and  chafed  her  poor  limbs,  and  nursed  her  until 
she  died. 

"  Is  there  a  rat  in  your  trap,  Gabriel  ?"  I  asked,  as  coldly  as  I 
could,  as  he  stood  watching  the  stiffening  form  of  the  exquisite 
little  creature  before  us. 

"  I'll  go  and  see,  Miss  Milla,"  he  said  hurrying  away  to  survey 
the  result  of  his  favorite  enterprise,  and  returning  triumphantly 
with  the  trap  itself.  "  Two  on  'em,  Miss  Milla !•"  he  said,  proudly  ; 
"  and  mighty  fine  ones  dey  is." 

"  Put  these  pieces  of  broken  saucer  just  as  they  are  into  the  trap, 
and  leave  it  here  until  you  come  again." 

He  dropped  them,  one  by  one,  through  the  wires,  still  coated 
with  cream,  as  he  found  them. 

"Now,  Gabriel,  go  and  dig  a  grave  for  poor  Clarice  in  the 
yard  fence  corner,  and  when  you  are  ready,  come  for  her,  basket 
and  all." 

When  he  had  disappeared,  I  gave  way  to  a  hearty  burst  of 
grief,  and  throwing  the  rabbit-skin  over  her  insensible  form,  thus 
prepared  poor  Clarice  for  sepulture.  I  now  turned  my  attention 
to  the  rats.  One  was  dead,  the  other  in  death  agonies.  In 
about  an  hour,  Gabriel  returned. 

"  I  done  dug  de  graib,  Miss  Milla,"  he  whispered,  in  sepulchral 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIK.          311 

accents,  rolling  his  eyes  fearfully  at  me  in  his  sable  head,  as  if  we 
were  a  pair  of  conspirators. 

"  Take  her  away  then,  Gabriel,"  I  said,  in  steady  tones,  "  and 
let  the  basket  down  carefully  ;  and  here,  take  your  trap,  too,  and, 
Gabriel,  this  is  for  you,"  extending  a  Spanish  dollar  to  him,  "  and 
be  sure  and  put  a  piece  of  green  sod  over  poor  Clarice." 

"  Good  gracious.  Miss  Milla,  my  rats  done  dead  !  I  was  gwine 
to  worry  'em  so  nice  !" 

"  Be  off,  Gabriel,  and  don't  open  your  mouth  about  rats  tome, 
or  any  one  else  again  !  Or — or  Clarice,  either  ;  do  you  hear  me, 
sir?" 

"  I  hears  you,  Miss  Milla,"  he  said.  As  he  went  out,  sulkily,  I 
heard  him  mumble  : 

"  I  'spec  you  knows  by  dis  time  who  'stroyed  your  mocking- 
bird 1" 

When  Mr.  Bouverie  came  home  to  dinner  at  five  o'clock,  I  re- 
ceived him  as  if  nothing  had  occurred  to  mar  the  serenity  of  our 
intercourse.  He  found  me  dressed,  and  seated  as  usual  at  that 
hour,  in  the  library,  waiting  for  him.  I  had  spent  that  day  in 
wrestling  with  myself,  and  had  conquered  my  worst  enemy,  per- 
haps. At  first,  my  heart  was  full  of  anger  and  bitterness,  and 
almost  loathing.  I  have  such  a  peculiar  horror  of  cruelty.  It  is 
the  one  unpardonable  sin  to  me,  and  this  act  appeared  so 
wanton  I 

"  But  my  duty  is  plain  before  me  at  last,"  I  thought ;  "  I  must 
let  nothing  come  between  us,  even  were  it  a  shadow.  I  have 
found  out  his  peculiarity — it  is  morbid,  insane  jealousy." 

As  with  a  lightning  glance,  this  was  revealed  to  me  for  the  first 
time  ;  looking  back  this  day  over  past  events,  and  yet  he  has 
never  said  a  word  to  this  effect  ;  but  woe  to  all  I  love  !  '1 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEBIK. 

must  give  up  all  affection,  however  innocent.  I  must  be  cold  to 
Paul — manifest  no  peculiar  pleasure  in  any  society — abjure  pets, 
and  even  for  his  own  sake,  be  guarded  in  my  eulogies  of  Father 
Clare."  My  husband's  conduct,  after  I  touched  this  chord  of 
motive,  assumed  a  strange,  terrible  consistency  in  my  eyes.  "  Had 
our  child  lived,"  I  thought  ;  "  he  might  have  hated  her  even,  for 
the  devotion  I  should  unquestionably  have  lavished  on  her." 

Yet,  after  I  had  arrived  at  these  conclusions,  I  found  that  I 
could  honestly  respect  Mr.  Bouverie,  more  than  when  he  seemed 
a  mere  reckless  destroyer.  "  It  is  a  mania  with  him  through  me. 
I  see  it  now,"  I  reflected,  "  and  I  shall  be  accountable  here- 
after, if  I  do  aught  to  aggravate  that  mental  malady.  God 
spare  me  further  trials,  though  !  the  string  of  endurance 
is  very  tense  now — it  may  snap  unexpectedly,  if  further  pressure 
be  applied." 

I  made  my  resolutions  to  suit  the  present  occasion,  and  adhered 
to  them.  I  would  never  name  the  affair  of  that  morning  to  him 
again,  nor  suffer  him  to  refer  to  it.  I  would  try  and  forgive  him 
for  torturing  me  so  cruelly  in  consideration  of  his  self-torture,  and 
merge  my  own  wrongs  in  pity  for  his  mental  obliquity. 

All  this  I  determined  on  before  he  came.  We  dined  tete-a- 
tete.  I  had  thought  he  might  be  ill  at  ease,  but  nothing  could 
exceed  his  graceful  self-possession.  I  had  thought  to  be  mag- 
nanimous .in  his  eyes.  I  was  only  fulfilling  his  expectation,  evi- 
dently— my  conduct  was,  in  his  estimation,  a  mere  matter  of 
course.  He  thought  no  more  of  my  dead  Clarice,  than  I  of 
Gabriel's  dead  rats  1 

This  is  the  worst  of  sophistry,  it  brings  everything  to  a  level, 
and  Mr.  Bouverie  does  reason  away  scruples,  until  nothing  but 
lawless  expediency  remains. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  313 

Well,  I  have  won  my  own  esteem  at  least  by  the  course  I  hare 
pursued,  and  this  is  much  ! 

Friends  came  in  after  dinner,  conversation  flowed  freely,  and  I 
took  part  in  it  to  the  best  of  my  ability. 

"  I  never  saw  you  so  brilliant  as  you  were  to-night,  Camilla," 
he  said,  when  we  were  alone  again  ;  "  you  might  lead  society  if 
you  would  try  and  do  so,  and  give  up  engrossing  follies — crimping 
Mils,  raising  ducks,  doctoring  old  women,  little  dogs,  and  the  like; 
and  hearing  a  pert  schoolboy  prate  with  evident  delight," 

This  was  too  much  !  He  was  trying  to  make  me  believe  that 
his  cruelty  was  disinterested  benevolence,  exercised  for  my  ad- 
vantage only. 

I  could  not  trust  myself  to  speak  ;  but  I  felt  like  the  poor  negro, 
whose  hypocritical  master  assured  him  with  every  bloody  stroke 
of  the  whip — that  he  was  scourging  him  for  his  own  good  alone. 

"  Massa,"  he  cried,  at  last,  in  desperation  ;  "  I  can  stand  de 
wnipping,  if  you  will  please,  sir,  lef  out  de  lies  !" 

For  the  first  time,  Mr.  Bouverie's  approbation  was  a  matter  of 
indifference  to  me,  and  his  fine  compliments  fell  on  an  insensible 
ear — I  must  write  these  things  or  die. 

I  have  written  to  Paul  about  the  death  of  poor  Clarice,  but  I 
gave  him  no  details  ;  these  he  can  never  know.  He  will  be  much 
distressed  at  first,  but  boys  soon  get  over  such  things.  He  writes 
to  me  long  and  very  original  letters  ;  they  are  the  chief  excite- 
ment of  my  life,  better  than  ball,  theatre,  Congressional  debates, 
or  levee  to  me.  This  great  tide  of  gaiety  rolls  over  my  heart, 
as  a  river  over  the  stones  in  its  bed,  that  can  never  be  lifted  out 
of  their  deep  heaviness. 

Did  I  love  my  God,  my  husband  less,  I  might  merge  my  exis- 
tence  in  the  world  of  fashion,  and  become  a  leader,  as  they  call 


314  THE   HOUbfcHOLD   OK    BOUVEHIE. 

it  here,  of  society.  An  artificial  atmosphere  of  happiness  might 
thus  be  compelled  around  me,  but  I  am  not  constituted  for  such 
a  life  ;  it  would  kill  me,  body  and  soul. 


Mr.  Bouverie  is  much  absorbed  with  great  chemical  experi- 
ments just  now,  and  dreams  of  future  fortune.  He  is  in  corres- 
pondence with  many  distinguished  men  of  science  in  foreign 
countries,  and  I  have  proposed  to  undertake  the  part  of  amanuen- 
sis for  him.  But,  to  my  astonishment,  he  resolutely  declines  my 
offer.  He  gives  as  his  reason,  the  confinement  to  which  it  would 
subject  me,  and  I  am  indeed  greatly  relieved  by  his  refusal,  I  am 
not  strong  enough,  nor  patient  enough,  perhaps,  for  such  seden- 
tary employment ;  yet  I  meant  to  do  my  duty  in  offering. 

Mr.  Bouverie  is  much  attended  to,  and  admired  in  society.  I 
ought  to  be,  I  hope  I  am  proud  of  being  his  wife.  His  indiffer- 
ence to  female  society  is  alleged,  as  his  only  deficiency  by  the 
ladies  of  my  acquaintance,  and  this  is  true  of  him.  Women  bore 
him  terribly  unless  they  are  very  old,  or  very  silent,  and  yet  he 
is  always  urging  me  to  talk,  and  will  sit  by  and  listen  while  I 
keep  up  the  ball  of  badinage  with  the  keenest  internal  amusement. 


Napoleon's  disastrous  captivity  is  still  the  general  theme.  1  do 
not  pity  him,  because  I  never  admired  his  cold,  rapid,  unscrupu- 
lous course,  and  as  he  had  no  generosity  himself,  I  am  glad  he 
was  deceived  in  estimating  that  of  the  English — the  English,  so 
late  our  self-imposed  guests  at  Washington,  and  who  left  behind 
them  their  mark  in  fire  and  blood,  nearly  obliterated  now,  thank 
God  1  But  to  return  to  Napoleon.  His  heartless  rcpudia- 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          315 

tion  of  Josephine  ;  his  murder  of  the  Duke  d'Enghien,  so 
cold,  so  treacherous  ;  his  ruthless  invasion  of  Russia  ;  his  entire 
and  supreme  selfishness  throughout  his  whole  career,  repel  and 
disgust  me — oh  what  are  genius,  fascination,  eloquence — noble 
presence  and  manner,  and  position,  compared  to  simple  unadul- 
terated goodness  ? 

Mr.  Bouverie  defends  him  with  eloquent  sophistry.  I  cannot 
bear  to  hear  him  talk  on  this  subject.  A  man's  notions  of  right 
and  wrong  get  so  confused  when  murder  and  robbery  are  called 
conquest,  and  selfish  cruelty,  national  expediency — I  hate  that 
word  expediency — it  jars  on  my  ear,  no  such  thing  ought  to  be 
admitted  in  any  code  of  morals. 

There  is  a  novel  out  called  Waverley,  very  brilliant  and  wonder- 
ful by  a  new  unknown  author,  which  the  critics  say  is  to  eclipse 
all  that  has  gone  before.  Truly  this  is  an  age  of  genius  and  pro- 
gress too ! 

The  Diary  continues  year  after  year  ;  but  as  my  object  is  only 
to  supply  the  missing  links  in  the  story  of  Lilian  de  Courcy,  I 
will  pass  over  its  very  brightest  portions,  consisting  of  descriptions 
of  Washington  life,  and  notable  people,  always  coming  back  to 
the  ceaseless  melancholy  within  fixed,  and  even  cheerful  now  in  its 
way,  and  borne  as  a  martyr  bears  his  cross,  firmly  if  not  hopefully. 

It  is  evident  that  Mrs.  Bouverie  was  never  able,  either  through 
prayer,  or  affection,  or  gaiety,  or  reason,  or  study,  to  master  the 
corroding  conviction  that  in  some  way  her  husband  was  connected 
with  the  murder  of  Frederick  Staunton,  nor  do  I  think  she  ever 
loved  him  after  this  thought  became  habitual  to  her,  with  the 
same  unreserve  and  intensity  of  feeling.  Perhaps  this  very  con- 
straint on  her  part  kept  alive  his  passion  in  fuller  force,  constituted 


316          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

as  he  was.  He  seems  to  have  almost  laid  aside  his  sarcastic 
levity  of  speech,  startled  as  he  must  have  been  by  the  conse- 
quences of  his  own  reckless  vengeance,  and  to  have  idolized  her 
even  morbidly  through  life,  though  certainly  evidencing  in  a 
peculiar  manner,  his  fondness  and  untiring  vigilance.  There  must 
have  been  more  of  "  old  uncle  Bouverie"  in  his  nature  than  she 
imagined.  High  breeding  alone  would  have  prevented  the  same 
exhibitions  of  malice  and  ill  temper  ;  but  that  Erastus  Bouverie 
was  one  whose  path  no  man  might  cross  in  safety,  and  whose 
unscrupulous  ideas  of  vengeance  no  limits  could  define,  has  been 
shown  elsewhere,  and  need  not  be  now  repeated.  I  pass  over  a 
lapse  of  nine  or  ten  years,  before  I  make  my  next  selection  from 
the  Diary,  as  important  events,  now  begin  to  close  round  the  life 
of  Camilla  Bouverie. 


October. 

We  have  returned  to  Bouverie  to  live.  The  house  in  Wash- 
ington is  given  up.  Erastus  has  resigned  his  appointment  there, 
and  will  devote  himself  for  a  time  to  his  scientific  pursuits  alone. 
He  has  fitted  up  one  large  room  hi  the  wing  for  his  laboratory, 
and  another  adjoining  it,  as  his  library.  We  find  Dame  McCor- 
mick,  so  long  an  exile,  ensconced  again  at  Bouverie,  fulfilling  all 
her  ancient  duties,  as  if  she  had  never  left  them  off.  As  soon  as 
Aunt  Furness  died,  she  returned,  yet,  how  she  heard  of  this 
event,  or  by  whose  permission  she  resumed  her  kitchen  functions, 
I  have  yet  to  learn. 

I  am  rather  disposed  to  think  it  was  a  piece  of  consideration 
on  Mr.  Bouverie's  part  that  has  brought  her  back  again  ;  a  mis- 
taken one,  I  confess,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned.  I  should  so 
much  have  preferred  a  vigorous  young  woman  in  the  same  posi- 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.    »  317 

tio»  she  occupied  !  Besides,  I  never  really  fancied  Dame  McCor- 
mick.  She  is  horribly  cross,  and  almost  entirely  deaf  now,  and  1 
have  learned  to  rule  better  since  she  lived  with  me  before,  which 
will,  I  fear,  ill  suit  her  hot  Irish  temper. 

She  is,  besides,  encumbered  with  a  hideous  grandchild,  about  two 
years  old,  brought  and  dropped,  literally,  on  the  threshold  of  her 
cottage  (as  a  cat  might  carry  its  starving  kitten  to  be  fed)  by 
its  degraded,  dying  father,  a  few  months  before — the  son  she  had 
vainly  pursued  through  many  years,  and  at  last,  despairing  of 
meeting  again,  beheld  only  in  death  !  How  many  quiet  tragedies 
are  played  in  life  ! 

This  creature  lies  before  the  kitchen-fire  in  a  basket,  like  a 
little  animal,  moaning  fearfully,  having  received  some  injury  to 
the  spine,  Dr.  Moore  thinks,  and  probably  an  idiot  in  conse- 
quence, but  keenly  alive  to  the  instinctive  voice  of  nature,  devour- 
ing as  it  does  almost  incredible  amounts  of  food  suitable  for  its 
tender  age.  I  have  not  said  a  word  about  this  singular  return  of 
Dame  McCormick's  to  Mr.  Bouverie,  nor  he  to  me — so  each  may 
be  in  error  after  all,  as  to  the  share  the  oilier  has  taken  in  the 
transaction.  Yet,  what  good  would  an  explanation  effect  ?  We 
cannot  turn  the  poor  old  creature  out,  now  that  she  has  thrown 
herself  (if  thus  it  be),  on  our  charity — nor  have  I  found  any 
reasonable  cause  of  complaint  against  her  yet. 

Her  eye  is  as  quick,  her  hand  as  neat  as  ever,  her  food  as  well 
prepared  ;  but  that  mystery  repels  me  from  her — which  she  does 
not  offer  to  explain  away,  and  which  involves  the  last  twelve 
years  of  her  life  ! 

There  seems  a  tacit  consent  between  Mr.  Bouverie  and  myself, 
that  we  shall  never  question  each  other  again  ;  indeed,  our  lives, 
although  apparently  passed  together,  are  really  divided  by  a  cold, 


S18        %  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

invisible  barrier.  Oh  !  shall  the  day  soon  come,  when  the  truth 
will  be  made  plain  between  us,  and  repentance  atone  for  sin,  and 
reestablish  confidence — the  only  true  and  stable  platform  of  mar* 
tied  love  I 


Mr.  Bouverie  defers  building  my  greenhouse.  I  shall  not  in- 
sist upon  it,  although  it  would  give  me  great  pleasure  to  have 
one;  in  the  meantime  I  shall  fit  up  Uncle  Bouverie's  old  basement 
kitchen  (long  disused)  as  a  conservatory  for  hardy  greenhouse 
shrubs,  and.  revel  in  orange  and  lemon-trees,  and  oleanders  and 
fig-trees — if  I  can  have  nothing  more  delicate  ! 


There  is  a  new  embroidery  work  fashionable  for  ladies  now, 
that  I  enjoy  very  much,  and  have  learned  to  do  skillfully,  chairs 
and  sofas  are  covered  thus  with  elegance  and  cheapness,  by  in- 
dustry alone.  The  result  of  this  pleasant  labor  is  said  by  judges 
greatly  to  resemble  the  celebrated  "  Gobelin"  tapestry.  I  am 
commencing  a  set  of  furniture  covers  for  my  drawing-room — 
heaven  knows  when  they  will  be  finished  ! 


Paul  Quintih'an  arrived  last  night,  bringing  with  him  his  col- 
lege chum,  Ernest  Clavering,  truly  an  elegant  young  man,  and  a 
poet  of  no  common  promise,  his  compeers  say.  He  has  a  fine, 
melancholy  face,  ominous  of  sorrow  it  seems  to  me,  with  a  sort  of 
Charles  the  First  expression. 

Vandyke  would  have  liked  to  have  painted  him,  I  think  His 
hair,  dark  chestnut  in  color,  is  the  most  beautiful  and  profuse  j 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJTEEIE.  319 

have  ever  seen,  aiid  he  has  fine  eyes.  He  is  three  years  younger 
than  Paul,  but  carries  off  the  first  honors.  Paul  stood  second. 
They  are  a  splendid  pair  of  youths.  Such  generous  specimens  of 
truly  cultivated  men,  above  envy,  admiring  and  appreciating  each 
other  as  they  do  so  thoroughly  ! 

Paul  is  twenty  years  old  past,  and  commences  his  medical 
studies  very  soon.  He  will  go  to  Philadelphia,  where  the  best 
school  of  medicine  exists,  and  afterward,  if  he  likes,  to  Paris,  to 
walk  the  hospitals  ;  but  just  now  his  home  is  here,  and  I  am 
trying  to  forget  how  soon  I  shall  have  to  give  him  up  again. 
Oh,  if  my  daughter  had  lived,  and  it  had  pleased  heaven  to  give 
her  such  a  husband  !  Truth,  talent,  manly  bearing,  infinite  sweet- 
ness of  character,  and  firmness  of  purpose,  all  combined,  make 
him  one  of  the  rarest,  most  perfect  specimens  of  human  nature 
I  have  ever  met  with.  He  is  much  better-looking,  too,  than  I 
ever  thought  he  would  be  from  the  promise  of  his  boyhood, 
handsome  certainly  in  my  partial  eyes,  though  not  usually  con- 
sidered so. 

But  let  me  not  repine  over  the  inevitable  past !  Bishop  Clare 
comes  to-morrow,  and  I  hope  that  I  shall  have  fewer  sins  of  im- 
patience and  discontent  to  answer  for  than  when  I  last  made  my 
confession.  I  have  indeed  prayed  and  wrestled  of  late,  yet  I 
am  still  very  far  from  being  either  good  or  religious.  I  am 
naturally  so  vain  and  worldly,  and  so  "  earthy  and  of  the  earth," 
that  I  cannot  realize  as  I  ought  to  do  the  great  subjects  of  life 
and  death. 

Holy  Yirgin,  chasten  me  with  thy  mild  counsel,  and  lead  me 
with  thy  strengthening  hand.  Teach  me  to  love  myself,  and  my 
poor  transient  beauty  less,  which  I  spend  so  much  precious  time 
in  adorning.  I  am  conscious,  sinfully  conscious,  that  as  I  grow 


320  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEKIE. 

older,  I  attach  more  and  more  importance  to  my  appearance, 
once  considered  as  a  mere  matter  of  course. 

I  was  so  flattered  in  Washington,  that  the  snares  closed  around 
me,  struggle  as  I  would,  and  I  triumphed  at  last  in  the  power 
mere  physical  accident  had  given  me. 

I  do  hope  that  living  at  Bouverie  will  whip  the  offending  Adam, 
or  rather  Eve,  out  of  me,  and  make  me  sensible  of  the  truth,  that 
I  am  weak,  offending,  unworthy,  save  through  the  precious  inter- 
cession of  saints,  and  my  Lord  Jesus  Christ — a  child  of  dust, 
nothing  more. 


There  is  no  hope  of  making  dear  Quintil  a  Catholic.  He  is 
essentially  Calvinistic  in  his  views,  J  find,  much  to  my  regret ; 
and  as  for  Clavering,  he  is  a  declared  Unitarian,  which  means  just 
nothing  at  all.  What  Paul  can  see  in  that  gloomy  Lutheran 
religion,  to  make  him  incline  to  its  doctrines,  I  cannot  conceive. 
Predestination  is  such  a  paralyzing,  fatal  belief  to  hold,  and  what 
can  be  more  hideous  than  the  doctrine  of  the  elect  ?  No  death- 
bed repentance  either,  no  hope  for  the  dying  shiner  !  Oh  !  if  this 
dark  creed  be  true,  vainly  indeed  did  our  Saviour  say  to  the 
repentant  thief  on  the  cross,  "  Verily,  I  say  unto  thee,  this  day 
thou  shalt  be  with  me  in  Paradise."  I  am  so  grateful  that  I 
was  raised  a  Catholic.  And,  more  and  more,  each  day  do  I  per- 
ceive how  suited  to  all  frames  of  mind,  to  all  conditions,  to  all 
needs,  are  its  tenets  of  hope  and  consolation. 


Letters  from  Dr.  Luther  Quintilian  inform  us  that  he  will 
return  before  long,  to  reside  in  the  United  States  again.  His 
wife,  the  daughter  of  the  Leyden  professor  I  have  elsewhere 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  321 

mentioned,  died  last  year,  we  now  hear  for  the  first  tune,  in 
child-bed.  Poor  thing,  she  had  lived  childless  many  years,  and 
just  as  the  sweet  promise  of  maternity  opened  before  her,  she  per- 
ished. A  fair,  beautiful  woman  she  must  have  been,  from  the 
accompanying  miniature,  but  frail  as  a  snowdrop. 

I  do  believe  there  is  much  more  tenacity  of  life  in  dark  than 
in  fair  people.  Could  anything  kill  me  ?  I  really  feel  that  I 
shall  live  to  be  as  old  as  the  wandering  Jew  ;  no  one  ever  realized 
the  possibility^  death  so  little.  This  seems  fatuity,  but  I  can- 
not help  it.  It  is  constitutional,  life  consciousness  with  me  ;  there 
ought  to  be  a  phrenological  bump  for  this  quality. 

Father  Clare  thinks  my  character  improves,  strengthens.  I 
hope  he  is  right,  but  I  do  not  think  I  am  good  as  I  used  to  be, 
not  half  so  innocent,  so  credulous,  so  sweet-tempered.  I  am  a 
little  hard  and  sarcastic  now,  sometimes,  even  when  I  ought  least 
be  so.  I  am  a  curious  compound  of  cowardice  and  courage.  I 
who  run  from  a  dog  or  unmolesting  cow,  have  stood  unmoved  with 
a  loaded  pistol  to  my  head.  Oh,  my  God  !  let  me  not  think  of 
that,  it  was  the  bitter  drop  that  made  the  cnp  run  over.  "  Done 
to  try  me  " — was  it  ?  What  right  has  any  human  creature  to 
try  another  thus  ?  Suppose  I  had  swerved  ;  suppose  his  hand 
had  trembled — what  then  ?  A  little  more  bloodshed,  that  would 
have  been  all.  But  I  did  not  care  enough  to  push  the  machine 
aside,  and  yet  I  am  beloved — strange,  strange  inconsistency  ! 


February. 

Luther  Quintilian  has  arrived.  He  came  straight  to  our  house, 
as  he  should  have  done,  on  hearing  that  we  had  left  Washington 
to  return  there  no  more,  and  found  all  that  he  cared  to  seo  in 


322  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

America  assembled  under  one  roof.     I  did  not  witness  the  meet- 

^ 

tag  between  the  brothers.  I  had  gone  to  Croften  to  the  stores, 
on  the  morning  of  Dr.  Quintilian's  unexpected  advent,  and 
missed  the  great  pleasure  it  would  have  given  me  to  see  their 
fraternal  embrace. 

They  seemed  to  have  quite  recovsred  from  the  agitation  of  the 
greeting  when  I  returned  ;  and  dressed  just  as  I  was — with  my 
cloak  and  furs  on,  and  my  hat  and  feathers — and  quite  unconscious 
of  a  strange  presence  under  my  roof,  entered  the  drawing-room. 
Mr.  Bouverie  was  seated  before  the  fire,  talking  with  unwonted 
animation  to  some  one,  whose  back  was  turned  to  me.  Paul  and 
Earnest  Clavering  were  on  the  sofa  in  the  corner  together,  and 
between  them  was  seated  a  child.  I  can  realize  the  expression 
now — "  Non  Angli  sed  Angeli." 

I  opened  the  door  softly,  and  stood  among  them  before  they 
knew  it.  The  gentlemen  rose  to  their  feet. 

"  This  is  my  wife,  Luther,"  said  Mr.  Bouverie,  with  real  pride,  I 
could  tell  from  the  tone  of  his  most  expressive  voice.  "  Camilla," 
he  added,  taking  my  hand  and  placing  it  in  the  extended  palm  of 
the  stranger,  "  this  is  my  ward,  Luther  Quintilian." 

The  stranger  clasped  my  hand,  and  bowed  low,  almost  rever- 
ently, over  it ;  then  looking  full  into  ray  face,  as  he  raised  his 
head,  he  said  : 

"  I  had  thought  to  have  seen  you  much  older,  Mrs.  Bouverie 
Paul  never  mentioned  how  youthful  you  were,  or  " 

He  hesitated  and  colored  slightly,  but  his  eye,  his  smiling  lip, 
supplied  the  rest  of  the  sentence. 

"  How  beautiful,  Luther,  you  would  like  to  say  if  you  dared," 
said  my  husband,  "  you  are  not  peculiar  in  your  opinion,"  he 
added,  drily. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.  323 

"I  certainly  expected  to  see  a  much  more  matronlj  guar- 
dianess,  if  such  a  coinage  be  permitted  ;  but  I  think  I  can  bear 
the  disappointment  patiently,"  he  said,  laughing. 

Mr.  Bouverie  seemed  well  pleased  that  he  should  recognize  my 
claims  to  youth  and  beauty,  matters  that  he  is  jealously  anxious 
should  be  considered  a  part  of  his  wife,  and  to  the  decline  of 
which  he  looks  with  even  more  concern  than  I  do  myself. 

"  And,  now,  Mrs.  Bouverie,  let  me  show  you  the  little  appli- 
cant for  your  favor  that  still  remains  unnoticed,"  and  he  brought 
me  from  the  sofa,  where  he  was  sitting  contentedly,  the  beautiful 
baby  boy  I  had  observed  on  my  entrance. 

"  Not  unnoticed,"  I  said,  "  only  biding  his  time  until  I  had 
made  friends  with  his  father  ;  I  saw  the  little  creature  as  I 
came  in,"  and  I  repeated  the  thought  that  had  risen  in  my  mind 
as  I  beheld  him.  He  seemed  pleased,  touched  even,  when  a 
moment  later  the  baby,  in  answer  to  my  invitation,  held  out  his 
hands  to  come  to  me,  and  put  up  his  rosebud  mouth  to  be  kissed. 

"He certainly  is,"  I  said,  " the  most  seraphic  child  I  have  ever 
looked  upon  !  Oh,  Bouverie  !  have  you  remarked  his  beauty,  its 
remarkable  character,  its  perfection  ?"  and  I  bore  him  to  my 
husband  and  placed  him  in  his  arms.  "  How  I  wish,"  I  mur- 
mured, in  his  ear,  "  that  he  was  mine  !"  I  almost  trembled  for 
the  consequence  of  this  impulsive  speech,  and  was  gratefully  sur- 
prised when  either  from  courtesy,  or  the  mood  of  the  moment,  he 
said  aloud  :  "  Do  you  hear,  Luther  ?  my  wife  is  craving  your 
son.  Won't  you  give  him  to  her  ?"  I  ought  to  have  known  him 
better  than  to  catch  at  such  a  straw  as  this  mere  lip-deep  expres- 
sion ;  but  I  was  completely  carried  away  by  the  idea  of  possessing 
such  a  treasure,  and  I  turned  earnestly  to  the  father. "  "  Do  let 
me  keep  him  for  you,  Dr.  Quintilian,"  I  said,  "  at  least  miti]  y  MJ 
30 


324  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OB  BOUVEETE. 

have  a  home  for  him,  and  a  better  protection  than  I  can  bet 
again."  Paul  had  been  whispering  to  ine  in  the  meantime  that 
his  nurse  had  died  at  sea,  and  seemed  excited  and  delighted  with 
my  sudden,  but  no  less  earnest  scheme.  "  I  have  no  children — he 
would  be  such  a  solace  to  me,  Dr.  Quintilian!"  I  urged.  I  saw  Mr. 
Bouverie  frown — it  was  too  late  now  ;  Luther's  fine  face  quivered 
with  emotion  ;  "  were  I  to  choose  from  all  God's  creatures  that  I 
have  ever  seen,  from  externals  alone,  one  to  confide  my  chief 
treasure  to,  you  should  be  that  one,"  he  answered,  and  it  was 
decided  that,  for  the  present  at  least,  I  should  take  the  place  of 
mother  to  the  little  Jasper.  All  this  was  concluded  before  I  had 
laid  off  my  wrappings,  and  when  I  went  to  my  room,  I  bore  my 
baby  with  me,  laughing,  playing,  crowing,  wild  with  delight,  the 
sweetest  thing,  of  fifteen  months,  that  ever  bore  the  human 
shape  ! 

I  rang  for  Bianca.  "  Will  you  help  me  take  care  of  him  ?" 
I  said,  all  elate  and  triumphant  as  I  held  him  up,  in  his  little 
scarlet  dress,  so  waxen  white,  so  bright,  so  beautiful  ! 

"  Where  did  he  fall  from,  Miss  Camilla  ?"  was  her  involuntary 
expression. 

"  From  heaven,  I  do  believe,  Bianca.  The  expression  is  just. 
t£ e  is  mine,  at  least  I  know  he  will  never  leave  me  when  I  teach 
him  to  love  me,  and  his  father  has  not  the  heart  to  break  mine, 
after  such  ties  are  knit.  Oh  !  Bianca,  my  prayers  are  answered, 
God  has  given  me  an  infant." 

Our  late  dinner  hour  arrived  before  I  remembered  that  there 
were  other  claimants  on  my  time  and  courtesy  below  stairs  ;  I 
could  not  tear  myself  away  from  Jasper  ;  I  had  already  ransacked 
his  h'ttle  trunk,  and  arranged  his  clothes  in  drawers  ;  I  had  fed 
him  from  a  cup  and  spoon,  provided  once  for  my  own  baby.  I 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          325 

had  enjoyed  his  infant  sweetness,  as  one  passionately  inhales  a 
tea  rose  ;  1  had  curled  hi?  lovely  sunny  hair,  examined  his  waxen 
hands  and  feet,  admiring  their  aristocratic  beauty,  and  small  rose- 
tinted  nails  ;  I  had  shown  him  pictures,  flowers,  images  ;  had 
given  him  the  little  marble  greyhound  to  play  with  that  I  cher- 
ish from  its  resemblance  to  poor  Clarice,  and  even  suffered  him 
to  take  the  blessed  candle  from  its  ormolu  stick  and  bite  against 
its  waxen  surface,  leaving  the  print  of  his  baby  teeth  on  either 
side.  The  long  banished  cradle  of  satin  wood  had  been  brought 
from  its  place  of  exile,  and  restored  with  honor,  blue  velvet  quilt 
and  all.  I  laid  him  down  in  the  downy  nest,  where  at  last  he 
dropped  to  sleep,  and  leaving  Bianca  beside  him,  I  hastily  made 
a  fresh  toilet,  not  forgetting  the  coral  comb  my  husband  likes,  and 
descended  to  the  drawing-room. 

Paul  and  Clavering  were  engaged  at  chess.  Mr.  Bouverie  and 
Dr.  Quintilian,  deep  in  a  scientific  discussion.  I  hoped  they  had 
not  missed  me  I 

"  I  feared  you  were  unwell,  my  love,"  Brastus  said,  "  when  you 
failed  to  reappear  ;  I  was  about  to  seek  you  several  times,  but 
reflected  that  you  might  possibly  have  engagements,  busy  house- 
wife that  you  are  !  What  new  cream  or  jelly  have  you  been 
concocting  to  suit  the  fastidious  appetite  of  our  European  guest  1" 

He  spoke  gaily,  joyously,  taking  my  hand  and  drawing  it  under 
his  arm  as  he  did  so,  for  such  was  his  custom  at  the  dinner  hour, 
and  Gabriel  now  threw  the  doors  open  with  his  usual  absurd  bow, 
and  ceremonious  announcement — 

"  De  dinnah  waits" 

"  You  forget,  Mr.  Bouverie,  the  claims  of  our  guest,"  I  said, 
offering  to  disengage  my  arm,  to  cross  the  hall  with  him. 

"  Not  so,"  be  said,  a  little  sternly,  "  let  the  young  men  com* 


326  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJ7ERIE. 

in  together,"  and  we  proceeded  in  this  order.  Dame  McCormick 
had  done  her  best  ;  there  was  nothing  to  complain  of,  but  the 
dessert  owed  none  of  its  abundance  nor  flavor  to  the  hand  of  the 
mistress  of  Bouverie  on  that  occasion  ;  conversation  flowed 
brilliantly,  wine  sparkled,  lights  were  brought  with  the  fruits,  and 
Gabriel  withdrew.  Just  then  the  door  opened  and  Bianca 
entered,  bearing  the  beautiful  baby  boy  in  her  arms. 

"  He  would  come  down,"  she  said,  in  a  deprecating  way  ;  "  he 
pointed  to  the  door  and  begged  so  hard." 

"  Ah,  little  rogue,"  said  his  father,  extending  his  arms  for  him, 
into  which  he  sprung  eagerly,  burying  his  head  in  the  bosom  of 
the  superb  man  to  whom  he  owed  his  being. 

"Jasper  1"  I  said,  in  persuasive  tones,  "  Jasper,"  I  held  a  bunch 
of  grapes  before  him,  "come,  baby,  come  to  me  !"  He  looked 
at  his  father,  then  at  me,  as  if  to  conciliate  both,  then  pushing 
aside  the  grapes  with  his  baby  hand,  for  he  does  not  love  fruit 
yet,  he  clasped  my  neck,  and  glided  into  my  lap,  as  naturally  as 
a  child  comes  to  his  own  mother. 

"  You  have  conquered  him  already,"  said  Dr.  Quintilian. 
"  How  wonderful  is  the  freemasonry  between  child  and  woman  ; 
but  blood  is  stronger  still,  see,  I  will  tempt  him  back  !"  and  he 
tried  in  vain. 

I  really  felt  quite  triumphant,  and  my  cheek  flushed  with 
pleasure,  I  was  so  happy  in  the  possession  of  my  new  toy  ? — no  ! 
my  living,  loving,  earnest  human  soul,  in  its  almost  angel  guise 
and  infant  purity.  Oh  God,  I  thank  thee  !  Blessed  Virgin,  I  ac- 
knowledge thy  merciful  intercession  in  the  divine  gift  of  providence, 
which  I  cannot  doubt  was  intended  to  reward  and  encourage  me 
Let  me  never  lose  sight  of  my  responsibility  ! 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  327 

I  have  no  reason  to  think,  so  far,  that  I  have  committed  an 
error  in  assuming  the  charge  of  Jasper,  although  once  or  twice  I 
fancied  a  little  cloud  on  Mr.  Bouverie's  brow,  as  he  saw  me  minis- 
tering to  him  myself.  Since  then  I  have  thrown  menial  (maternal 
duties  they  seem  to  me),  entirely  into  Bianca's  hands,  and  even 
suffered,  greatly  to  my  regret,  his  cradle  to  be  removed  to  her 
chamber.  I  must  not  be  unreasonable  about  him,  nor  too  much 
absorbed  in  my  care  of  him,  or  I  may  awaken  the  ill  fiend  again  ! 

I  have  even  heard  him  cry  occasionally,  he  that  cries  so  sel- 
dom, without  going  to  him,  because  I  felt  my  husband's  eye  was 
upon  me,  my  heart  beating  wildly  all  the  tune,  for  I  do  lore  him 
so  dearly,  so  passionately  almost.  Oh,  this  is  such  a  fault  of 
mine  !  I  am  excessive,  and  the  very  restraint  I  have  placed  on  my 
feelings  for  years  has  strengthened,  instead  of  weakening  them, 
when  once  they  are  let  loose. 

Indeed,  I  think  that  from  early  youth  up  to  middle  age  some 
natures  grow  in  power,  in  depth,  morally  as  well  as  intellectually. 
Burke  says,  %at  his  imagination  improved  until  he  was  forty,  and 
I  know  I  can  conceive  of,  and  bear  emotions  now,  that  would 
have  crushed  me  when  younger. 

But  I  am  by  no  means  as  good  and  gentle  as  I  was  fornJerly. 
I  am  far  more  bitter  and  rebellious — and  am  sometimes  a  little 
afraid  of  myself.  There  is  much  more  in  me  than  I  knew  of  once. 
I  know  that  I  could  die  in  defence  of  this  little  child,  and  defy 
any  one  that  lives,  in  its  behalf. 

March. 

I  think  I  like  Jasper  best  in  his  little  blue  gown  trimmed  with 
white  swansdown.  His  father  thinks  it  exquisite  ;  I  made  it  for  him 
with  my  own  hands:  and  in  his  jaunty  velvet  cap  and  feather,  also 


328  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE- 

my  handiwork,  he  looks  like  one  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds' 
children.  Dr.  Qaintilian  goes  to-morrow  to  Washington,  where 
he  takes  up  the  office  Mr.  Bouverie  laid  down.  He  resigned  his 
chair  in  Leyden,  in  consequence  of  having  received  this  offer. 

Paul  and  Ernest  will  follow  soon,  each  to  pursue  the  profession 
he  has  chosen — medicine  and  law.  What  a  pair  of  shining  lights 
they  are  going  to  be  !  Dr.  Quintilian  has  given  me  the  last  work 
out  by  the  author  of  Waverley,  shrewdly  suspected  now  to  be 
Walter  Scott,  the  poet ! 

That  "  Homeric  Bard  !"  as  Mr.  Bouverie  calls  him.  What  a 
wonderful  genius  he  has — and  how  appropriative  !  I  have  heard 
lately,  from  unquestionable  authority,  that  the  beautiful  charac- 
ter of  Rebecca  in  this  last  work,  Ivanhoe,  was  drawn  from  the 
life-like  description  he  received  through  an  intimate  friend  of  a 
lovely  and  gifted  young  Jewish  lady,  who  lives  in  Philadelphia.  I 
am  all  curiosity  to  see  her  !  My  informant  tells  me,  that  she  ia 
as  good  as  she  is  intelligent  and  beautiful — and  that  her  family 
hold  their  lineage  from  the  lion-like  tribe  of  Judah  !  this  is  to  me 
very  interesting  and  romantic  1 


Since  I  have  been  the  happy  possessor  or  my  little  Jasper,  my 
heart  has  opened  to  all  helpless  little  ones — even  to  that  moan- 
ing horror  in  the  kitchen.  Its  lifeless  limbs  are  arrayed  in  the 
cast-off  raiments  of  my  bonny  boy — and  I  have  made  the  old  dame 
naPPy,  by  this  simple  act  of  thoughtfulness.  How  mighty  is  the 
electric  chain  of  blood—oh,  if  it  had  pleased  the  Almighty  to 
have  given  me  children  !  Yain,  sinful  repining  this  ;  )  uave  a 
substitute  that  must — that  does  satisfy  me  ! 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEJBIE.  329 

I  spend  a  few  hours  each  day  with  Jasper  in  Bianca's  room—- 
those of  Mr.  BouYerie's  absence  or  seclusion  in  his  laboratory. 
When  he  is  in  the  house  I  remain  with  him  entirely,  and,  since  I 
see  that  he  prefers  it,  without  the  presence  of  the  child.  I  had 
taken  him  into  my  chamber  a  few  days  ago,  when  I  thought 
Erastus  was  gone  abroad  for  the  day,  and  was  sitting  on  the  rug 
with  him  before  the  fire,  building  card-houses  for  him,  which  he 
swept  down  whenever  I  gave  the  signal,  with  merry  screams  of 
delight,  when  Mr.  Bouverie  opened  the  door  softly  and  stood  be- 
hind us.  I  saw  that  he  disapproved  of  my  folly,  from  the  cloud 
on  his  brow.  Partly  ashamed,  partly  determined,  I  arose  and 
threw  myself  on  his  breast. 

"  Oh,  Bouverie,"  I  said  ;  "  do  not  be  displeased  !  Suffer  me 
to  love  him.  I  have  no  children,  and  my  heart  yearns  so  to  this 
little  one." 

"  Love  whom  you  please,  Camilla,"  he  said,  laying  his  arm 
coldly  over  my  shoulder,  and  averting  his  face.  "  This  is  a  mat- 
ter in  which  there  can  be  no  dictation — love  cannot  be  compelled 
or  restrained  by  the  commands  of  any  man  -,  yet,  for  your  own 
sake,  take  the  experience  of  the  world,  which  tells  us,  that  to 
lavish  love  on  the  offspring  of  others  is  a  thankless  office  a^  best. 
Blood  is  your  only  sure  binder,  and  the  child  you  foster  thus  may 
sting  you  yet  I" 

"  Never  1"  I  spoke  with  clasped  hands  and  flushing  cheek,'  for 
I  had  withdrawn  from  his  cold  embrace  and  stood  before  him  now, 
while  the  child,  as  if  conscious  of  his  sentiments  toward  him,  had 
clung  to  my  dress,  and  hidden  his  face  among  its  folds.  "  The 
seal  of  perfect  love  and  perfect  truth  has  been  placed  on  his  pure 
brow,  by  the  Almighty  hand  too  visibly,  Erastus,  to  permit  of 
change  like  this  ;  Jasper  will  be  the  consolation  yet  of  our  old  age." 


330  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

He  turned,  still  wearing  his  hat  and  great-coat,  and  left  the 
room  with  that  haughty  and  dissatisfied  air,  that  I  so  well  under- 
stand, and  as  the  door  closed  he  darted  a  look  at  me,  one  df  his 
old  looks,  that  almost  withered  me  !  Coward  as  I  am,  my  knees 
shook  and  smote  together,  as  if  some  unknown  evil  menaced  both 
Jasper  and  myself;  for  minutes  after  he  went  out  I  clung  to  the 
mantelpiece  sick  and  dispirited.  But  soon  collecting  myself,  I 
called  Bianca  to  remove  Jasper,  and  after  arranging  my  toilet — a 
matter  about  which  Mr.  Bouverie  is  scrupulously  exacting — I  went 
down  to  him.  He  was  reading  his  papers  when  I  entered  ;  but 
throwing  them  by  at  once,  he  rose  and  received  me  with  a  bright 
sniile  and  peculiar  courtesy,  than  which  there  is  nothing  more 
graceful,  more  princely,  in  my  estimation.  Placing  my  chair  by 
his,  he  took  my  hand  and  made  me  sit  by  him,  while  he  talked  on 
in  those  silvery  accents  that  fascinate  and  interest  every  listener. 
He  spoke  of  one  of  his  favorite  poets,  Coleridge,  and  recited 
portions  of  that  weird  poem,  "  Christabel,"  and  that  lovely  thing, 
"  Gene  vie  ve,"  gazing  in  my  face  all  the  time,  as  if  he  meant  every 
word  for  me.  What  power  he  has  over  me,  and  yet  how  he  has 
aoused  it.  Oh,  memory  ! — back,  back,  to  your  cell  ! 


A   YEAR   LATER 

April. 

Since  spring  opened,  we  have  taken  back  our  large  octagon 
bedroom,  with  its  great  window  giving  on  the  lawn.  The  baby 
plays  half  his  time  on  the  velvet  sward,  within  range  of  my  eye 
— -he  gathers  his  lap  full  of  violets  and  crocus-flowers,  and  creeps 
up  the  steps,  through  the  window,  aud  brings  them  to  me, 
lovingly. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEJilE.  333 

Yesterday,  as  he  stood  before  me  in  his  great  size  and  princely 
beauty,  for  a  creature  just  two  years  and  six  months  old,  with  hia 
flashing,  azure  eyes,  his  crimson  cheeks,  and  golden  curls,  I 
said,  gravely,  laying  my  hand  on  his  lovely  arm,  extended  with 
its  gift  of  flowers  : 

"Jasper,  which  of  the  angels  in  heaven  do  you  most  re- 
semble ?w 

I  heard  a  low,  mocking  laugh ;  I  looked  up,  Mr.  Bouverie  was 
passing  the  window.  I  felt  indignant  to  be  so  watched,  so  humili- 
ated constantly.  The  child  is  angelic,  body  and  soul,  and  when 
his  sweet  dewy  lips  are  pressed  to  mine,  I  feel  a  thrill  of  happi- 
ness, such  as  I  never  knew  before. 

I  claim  this  indulgence  as  the  only  reward  I  ask  for  long  suffer- 
ing ;  for  years  of  forbearance,  solitary  anguish,  agonizing 
doubts,  unflinching  obedience.  I  only  ask  permission  to  love  this 
child,  and  I  will  not  be  denied.  He  is  mine,  mine. 

His  father  will  marry  again,  and  rear  a  new  family;  the  kin- 
dred of  this  infant  are  all  dead  on  his  mother's  side,  and  Paul  and 
I  will  cherish  him,  between  us,  for  something  tells  me  that  Paul 
will  never  marry.  He  is  so  proud,  so  diffident,  so  unattractive  to 
the  stranger,  so  slow  to  form  attachments — now  Clavering  is  very 
different.  He  is  falling  in  love  with  every  new  and  beautiful  face, 
and  has  been  said,  young  as  he  is,  to  have  addressed  Annie  Blair. 
I  do  not  know  how  the  affair  will  turn  out.  She  is  a  little  too 
old  for  him,  I  think,  and  certainly  not  his  equal  intellectually, 
though  very  fair  to  look  upon.  I  think  he  might  wait  and  do 
better. 


Dr.  Quintilian  comes  down  occasionally  to  see  Jasper.  When  he 
as  last  here,  I  thought  his  manner  to  me  cold  and  constrained. 


332  THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOUVEK1E. 

Could  I  have  done  anything  to  oifend  him  ?  Oh,  1  do  hope  not ! 
But  I  ani  so  impetuous  in  speech  some  tunes,  that  I  may  without 
intending  it,  have  run  across  some  of  his  favorite  dogmas  or 
opinions.  I  can  say  nothing,  and  must  trust  to  ameliorating  time. 
In  the  meanwhile,  Jasper  grows  and  thrives  ;  he  does  not  speak 
articulately  yet  ;  but  they  say  boys  are  never  so  fluent  as  girls  ; 
greatly  to  my  regret,  he  has  almost  forgotten  his  father  !  Oh,  1 
do  hope  he  is  not  going  to  take  him  from  me,  and  that  this  reso- 
lution (and  the  pain  he  feels  in  announcing  it),  may  not  occasion 
his  evident  coolness  to  me — embarrassment  almost ! 


A.  young  painter  from  Philadelphia  has  been  down,  taking  por- 
traits at  Bouverie.  He  has  painted  me  so  beautiful  that  I  do  not 
ujcoguize  myself  at  all,  a  head  in  clouds  ;  Jasper,  in  the  same 
style,  is  truly  seraphic.  Mr.  Bouverie's  is  a  half  length  portrait. 
His  hand  is  on  Sahib's  mane,  for  thus  he  would  have  it,  and  he 
wears  a  cloak  trimmed  with  fur  ;  I  am  reminded  of  Byron's  poem 
of  the  Corsair,  whenever  I  look  at  this  picture. 

The  head  and  foreshoulder  only  of  the  horse  are  introduced. 
I  am  sure  that  young  S****  will  be  celebrated  in  his  line.  He 
is,  besides,  the  most  delightful  flute  player  I  have  ever  heard,  and  a 
man  of  elegance  and  attainment.  His  visit  has  afforded  us  un- 
alloyed pleasure.  These  pictures  are  to  be  exhibited  at  the  gal- 
lery of  fine  arts  in  Philadelphia.  He  tells  me  that  he  painted 
the  head  of  the  beautiful  young  Jewish  lady  I  have  before 
alluded  to,  in  the  same  style  that  he  has  done  mine,  and  evei. 
suggested  a  resemblance  between  us  ;  I  never  felt  half  so  flattered 
before  by  any  personal  compliment  ;  she  has  quite  fired  my  fancy. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE.  333 

I  saw  James  Staunton  yesterday,  I  was  standing  on  the  steps  of 
Mr.  Howe's  store  in  Croften,  when  he  passed  by.  He  turned  quite 
pale,  lifted  his  hand  to  his  hat,  then  dropped  it  again,  and  went 
by  without  saluting  me.  I  shivered  as  if  I  had  been  in  an  ague  fit. 
Olt  how  strange,  how  hard  are  the  laws  of  life  1  Had  I  followed 
my  impulse  I  should  have  gone  out,  and  fallen  at  his  feet  in 
anguish,  there  in  the  dusty  street,  before  the  eyes  of  men,  crying 
out,  "  oh  forgive,  forgive  us,  me  the  unhappy  cause,  him  the  most 
wretched  offender  !"  But  I  was  sustained  by  this  false  system 
of  ours,  to  stand  like  a  cold,  proud  statue  in  that  doorway,  and 
bend  my  eyes  on  vacancy,  as  he  passed  ! 

My  God  !  everything  comes  back  !  the  bitter  gorge  of  blood 
rises  in  my  throat  again,  as  if  I  had  drunk  of  it  from  a  cup,  to 
satiety.  It  cannot  be,  that  any  good  fortune  shall  attend 
us  !  Deeds  like  this  are  expiated  here  sometimes,  and  better  on 
«arth  than  hereafter  ;  I  ;  ave  chosen  my  portion  in  darkness,  and 
I  must  abide  it. 

Oh,  that  I  were  a  laborer's  wife,  going  forth  with  him  in  the 
morning  to  the  corn-field,  and  coming  back  weary  at  night,  anu 
pillowing  my  tired  head  on  his  broad,  and  honest,  and  God-fearing 
bosom  !  What  right  have  I  to  be  gay,  or  to  expect  happiness  ? 

How  dare  I  forget,  as  I  often  do  for  days,  even  for  one  moment, 
that  atonement  is  yet  to  be  made,  and  that  I  must  assist  to  make 
it  ?  Shall  I  tell  Bishop  Clare  everything  ;  shall  I  ask  his  counsel  ? 
Oh,  no,  no,  not  yet !  I  will  bear  my  burden  alone,  even  to  the 
bitter  end  !  as  I  have  borne  it — even  unto  death  ! 


It  is  June.     I  have  not  written  for  a  month  one  word  to  any 
one,  except  that  wild  note  to  Dr.  Quintiliau,  nor  left,  night  nor 


334  THR   HOUSEHOLD   OI    BOUVERIE. 

day,  the  bedside  of  our  blighted,  beautiful  boy.  What  a  great, 
noble,  feeling  soul  that  man  has  !  What  an  apostolic  nature  ! 
He  does  not  dream  of  the  truth,  but  he  feels  that  gross  careless- 
ness, to  say  the  least,  was  at  the  bottom  of  Jasper's  injury  ;  and 
yet  not  one  word,  or  look  of  reproach — not  one  hasty  rebuke 
has  left  his  lips  I 

Yet  how  he  has  suffered — his  wasted  frame,  his  pale  cheeks 
attest — so  lately  sound  and  rosy,  with  the  health  of  foreign 
habits,  and  serene  feelings.  He  forgives  Erastus  !  He  pities  me 
even  more  than  himself.  He  is  willing,  if  it  be  God's  will,  to 
give  up  his  child.  But  at  length  we  know,  with  joy  unspeakable, 
that  the  child  will  live,  and  that  his  mind  is  uninjured,  although 
one  whole  side  of  his  frame  and  face  are  paralyzed. 

He  cannot  speak  ;  he  will  probably  never  speak  again,  the 
physicians  think  ;  but  his  eyes  are  clear,  his  power  of  swallowing 
returns,  and  he  smiles  occasionally  when  free  from  pain,  and 
stretches  out  one  hand  beseechingly  whenever  I  leave  him,  even 
for  a  moment.  He  seems  to  love  his  father  again,  after  his  long, 
faithful  ministering  about  him,  and  pats  his  face  affectionately.  I 
am  perfectly  crushed  by  this  blow,  and  its  accompanying  horrors. 
I  will  record  them  here,  impelled  as  I  feel  to  do  so  by  some 
power  stronger  than  myself,  that  commands  me  to  testify  to  the 
truth  in  imperishable  words.  But  to  no  living  ear  shall  I  ever 
confide  the  terrors  that  beset  me,  and  make  my  earthly  path  so 
dark,  so  hopeless. 


Everything  passed  so  quickly,  I  can  scarcely  realize  it  yet. 
The  child  was  playing  on  the  lawn,  at  five  o'clock,  when  I  went 
into  my  room  to  change  my  dress,  before  receiving  Mrs.  Blair 
aud  her  daughter,  leaving  him  wit!  Bianca. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.          335 

It  seems  she  left  him  while  she  cut  the  cake  for  Gabriel  to 
hand  in  the  parlor.  The  ladies  could  not  stay  to  tea,  and  needed 
refreshment  after  so  long  a  drive. 

They  left  after  partaking  of  cake,  and  wine,  and  fruit.  It  was 
now  nearly  six  o'clock.  Mr.  Bouverie,  I  knew,  must  hare 
returned,  for  though  I  had  not  seen  him,  I  had  heard  Sahib's 
hoofs  strike  hard  on  the  turf,  as  he  galloped  past  the  window  of 
the  drawing-room.  I  met  Bianca,  pale  and  trembling,  as  I  went 
back  into  my  chamber. 

"I  cannot  find  Jasper,"  she  said.  "I  have  missed  him  ever 
since  I  went  to  the  pantry  for  the  cake  and  strawberries." 

"Not  find  him?"  I  said,  anxiously.  "We  must  find  him, 
Bianca  ;  you  have  been  careless  to  leave  him  out  of  your  sight  a 
moment.  Oh  !  where,  where  can  my  baby  be  ?" 

I  went  through  the  house,  calling  his  name  loudly.  I  flew 
upstairs.  I  examined  every  bed.  I  looked  under  the  dining- 
room  table,  covered  with  its  deep  cloth  ;  in  closets,  bookcases 
even,  in  the  most  improbable  places,  with  no  success.  In  the 
meantime,  Gabriel  was  flying  wildly  around  the  yard  ;  and  Mr. 
Bouverie  had  gone  to  the  lake,  to  search  for  him,  I  supposed. 
The  very  thought  of  seeking  him  there,  brought  such  an  agony 
of  hopelessness  to  my  mind,  that  I  sank  down,  and  burst  into 
flood  after  flood  of  tears.  But  it  would  not  do  to  indulge  thus. 
I  rose  up  and  renewed  my  search.  The  key  of  the  laboratory 
was  in  the  door.  I  opened  it,  and  went  in. 

The  room  was  dim.  I  threw  the  shutters  wide  open — these 
also  gave  on  the  back  lawn — and  peered  anxiously  through  the 
apartment,  crowded  as  it  was  with  chemical  apparatus.  Oh, 
God  !  in  one  corner  lay  a  little  bundle  of  white  clothes — I 
thought,  at  first,  a  heap,  such  as  one  would  throw  on  the  floor 


336  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

of  soiled  lineu  for  the  laundress.  I  approached  it.  I  raised  it 
up.  That  flaccid  mass  was  Jasper  ! 

My  shrieks  summoned  speedy  assistance,  or  rather  brought  the 
whole  household  together,  for  no  assistance  could  be  rendered. 
Among  the  foremost  was  Mr.  Bouverie. 

"  He  must  have  touched  the  wires  of  the  charged  battery,"  he 
said,  in  a  cold,  dry  voice  ;  "  the  shock  has  killed  him." 

I  turned  upon  him  one  look,  to  haunt  him,  I  hope,  until  he 
dies.  My  quivering  lips  refused  to  utter  their  indignant  accusa- 
tion ;  but  I  would  not  let  him  touch  my  baby — no,  he  never  shall 
again  while  life  is  mine  !  I  carried  him  myself  to  his  little  bed. 
I  bathed  his  lifeless  limbs  with  stimulants,  bound  ice  to  his  fore- 
head, poured  reviving  drops  down  his  poor,  unresisting  lips,  did 
whatever  my  own  weak  judgment  suggested,  then  sent  Gabriel 
off  for  Dr.  Moore,  and  wrote  to  summon  his  father. 

Two  days — may  I  never  know  such  again  while  life  is  mine 
— two  days  elapsed  before  Dr.  Quintilian  came,  riding  hard, 
day  and  night,  as  he  did  ;  and  in  the  interval  the  thread-like 
pulse  had  returned,  faint  warmth  had  crept  to  the  extremities, 
and  burning  heat  had  taken  possession  of  the  brow  and  head  of 
our  poor  lovely  one. 

Mr.  Bouverie  accompanied  Dr.  Quintilian  to  the  room  when  he 
came,  where  I  held  my  watch  by  Jasper,  with  kind  Dr.  Moore. 
It  seems  that  he  had  explained  matters  (my  God  !)  as  they  came 
along — I  know  not  how.  Dr.  Quintilian  has  never  even  remotely 
alluded  to  the  cause  of  his  injury  to  me,  doing  his  best  all  the 
time — moving  around  with  fixed,  locked  features,  and  endeavor- 
ing by  the  exercise  of  efficient  patience,  to  soothe  his  sufferings, 
a,nd  to  alleviate  my  distress. 

During  one  of  these  paroxysms,  not  very  long  ago,  he  clasped 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.  337 

my  hands,  with  earnest  entreaties  that  I  would  be  calm,  and  with 
assurances  that  my  sorrow,  my  rebellious  spirit,  for  such  he  thinks 
my  grief,  afflicted  him  more  even  than  his  child's  disaster.  He 
went  on,  perhaps  further  than  he  intended ;  but  I  am  sure  he 
could  not  measure  his  words  under  the  state  of  feeling  that  im- 
pelled him  to  speak,  and  I  shall  try  never  to  recall  them  again, 
nor  attach  to  them  the  slightest  importance  ;  but  I  think  I  know 
now  why  he  was  so  cold  to  me  when  he  came  to  Bouverie. 

He  has  urged  me  to  keep  his  child.  How  generous  this  is  1 
Yes,  I  will  keep  thee,  Jasper,  and  watch  over  thee  with  a  vigi- 
lance worthy  of  the  sons  of  light  themselves,  from  this  hour. 
Thy  bed  shall  be  my  bed,  my  wronged  and  blighted  baby,  and 
thy  life  shall  be  my  life.  And  oh  !  dark  and  cruel  husband,  by 
this  last  act  of  yours,  you  have  placed  an  impassable  abyss  be- 
tween us  forever,  here  and  hereafter.  I  cannot,  no  I  can  never 
again  lie  in  your  bosom,  stained  with  such  unmitigated  crime.  I 
am  alone,  no  kindred  of  mine  survive  to  stretch  to  me  their  lov- 
ing and  consoling  hands.  I  have  no  friends.  I  have  no  wish  for 
any.  Erastus,  I  am  in  the  hollow  of  your  hand,  yours  to  torture, 
to  destroy  ;  but  your  accomplice  I  have  been  long  enough— we 
are  twain  now,  and  so  shall  remain  to  the  awful  day  of  judgment. 
O  holy  Virgin,  sanctify  and  preserve  me  in  my  determination  ! 


Dr.  Qumtilian  goes  to  Europe  in  a  few  days,  Mr.  Bouverie 
accompanies  him — they  have  some  scientific  object  in  view.  How 
little  does  the  one  suspect,  or  the  other  repent !  There  is  some- 
thing horrible  and  unnatural  in  this  hardness,  the  result  of 
sophistry  and  skepticism.  Paul  will  remain  with  me  as  much  aa 
possible  during  Mr.  Bouverie's  absence.  I  am  icy  cold  to  Erastus. 


338  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJYEKIE. 

He  sees  that  I  understand  everything,  yet  he  is  perfectly  placid 
and  unmoved,  and  seems  not  to  notice  my  manner.  He  will 
never  ask  for  an  explanation.  It  is  not  in  his  nature  to  do  this 
— oh,  would  to  God  it  were  !  Would  that  he  could  come 
humble  and  repentant  from  the  presence  of  his  God,  to  her  he 
has  so  grievously  crushed  and  offended,  and  make  due  acknowledg- 
ments of  error  and  of  regret  ;  so  that  she  might  dare  to  follow 
out  her  inclinations,  and  in  imitation  of  the  holy  example  of  Jesus 
himself,  forgive — him  whom  she  holds  dearer  than  her  ow&  life. 
But  otherwise  this  can  never — never  be. 


They  have  sailed  at  last,  they  will  be  gone  a  year.  God  speed 
and  shield  them — and  may  his  holy  Spirit  enter  into  thy  heart, 
Erastus,  before  we  meet  again.  Jasper  slowly  improves. 


[After  an  absence  of  little  more  than  a  year,  Mr.  BouVerie 
returns.  There  seems  to  have  been  an  affectionate  meeting 
between  the  husband  and  wife,  after  this  separation,  yet  their 
reconciliation  was  evidently  imperfect. 

Dr.  Luther  Quintilian  remained  abroad  for  scientific  purposes. 
Dr.  Paul  had  joined  him  in  Paris,  where  he  was  pursuing  his  pro- 
fession. The  Diary  is  closely  continued  during  this  time,  often  hi 
great  anguish  of  spirit.  About  six  months  after  Erastus  Bouve- 
rie's  return,  Camilla  writes  thus  :] 

December. 

The  house  is  empty  again,  and  I  begin  to  tremble  ;  Bishop 
Clare  was  the  lost,  to  go — he  lingered  as  if  awaiting  some  con- 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE.  339 

fidence  from  me;  it  never  came.  Such  a  run  of  company  for 
months  wearies  one  so,  that  I  should  rejoice  at  our  quiet  once 
more,  were  it  not  for  the  dread  I  feel  of  an  explanation  !  The 
sword  of  Damocles  seems  hanging  over  my  head.  This  continual 
levered  anxiety  makes  me  nervous  and  excitable.  I  never  have 
been  so  thin  before.  I  fancy  that  I  am  fading  as  rapidly  as  a 
flower  in  the  fierce  sunshine.  It  cannot  last;  this  strange  un- 
natural calm  forebodes  a  thunder-storm.  Let  it  break  ! 

I  am  necessarily  much  occupied  with  Jasper.  I  never  lose 
'tight  of  him  for  one  moment,  except  when  Bianca  has  him  in  her 
jealous  keeping.  No  words  have  passed  between  us,  and  yet  h'ow 
perfectly  she  understands  everything  !  We  two  childless  women 
have  made  an  idol  of  our  blighted  baby  !  The  child  improves, 
however,  and  hope  begins  to  quicken  again,  despite  medical 
opinion.  He  is  the  most  intelligent,  spiritual  creature  I  ever  saw 
of  his  years — the  most  patient  1  His  little  hand  already  shapes 
simple  syllabic  words — and  (to  assist  his  meaning)  objects  such 
as  he  has  no  power  to  convey  otherwise — a  carriage,  a  piano,  a 
lantern,  a  flock  of  pigeons — he  has  drawn  all  these  things  and 
many  more,  so  distinctly  as  to  be  unmistakable.  Then  his 
expressive  gestures,  his  beaming  eyes,  that  almost  speak  to  one, 
denote  such  deep  feeling,  such  sympathetic  quickness  I  He  is 
beautiful,  too,  as  an  angel,  though  delicate  now,  and  pale  and 
lame,  as  well  as  dumb  ! 

O  God  ! — forgive,  forgive  his  persecutor.  Strengthen  me, 
too,  oh,  Father  !  to  struggle  for  him  to  the  end,  heart  and  hand. 
Honor  is  at  stake  in  this  matter  now,  as  well  as  feeling.  I  ought 
to  be  willing  to  die  to  protect  him,  if  need  be. 


340  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTJVERIE. 

Fortunately,  Mister  Bouverie  JB  much  engaged  still  with  his 
Russian  correspondence.  It  occupies  him  sometimes  for  days,  to 
the  exclusion  of  everything  else.  During  these  periods  the  door 
of  his  library  is  closed,  and  he  takes  his  meals,  slight  as  these  are, 
alone.  When  he  emerges,  after  these  times  of  seclusion,  he  is  very 
pale,  and  his  eye  wears  a  strange  brilliancy.  He  passes  much 
time  too,  I  think,  in  his  laboratory,  connected  as  this  is  now  by 
means  of  a  door  with  his  office,  and  its  poisonous  exhalations  are 
telling  on  his  delicate  frame,  I  fear.  I  saw  him  coming  from 
that  accursed  chamber,  whose  threshold  my  foot  can  never  cross 
again,  while  life  is  mine,  with  a  glass  mask  in  his  hand,  yester- 
day !  It  made  me  shiver  to  look  at  it — that  emblem  of  subtile 
assassination.  But  I  hurried  by  without  a  remark,  though  he 
held  it  a  moment  before  his  face,  intending  to  startle  me,  per- 
haps ;  his  black  eyes  and  brilliant  teeth  flashing  through  it,  as  he 
laughed  1 

His  face  rises  before  me  in  my  dreams,  just  as  I  saw  it  then, 
glittering  through  the  transparent  medium,  and  full  of  frigid  fire, 
I  know  not  how  else  to  describe  its  expression,  like  a  wintry  sun- 
beam through  an  icicle. 

0  God !  has  it  come  to  pass  that  I  am  afraid  of  my  own 
husband,  and  that  even  to  dream  of  him  in  some  phases,  makes 
my  blood  creep  coldly  through  my  veins  ? 

After  such  visions  I  sit  up  in  my  bed,  covering  my  face  with 
my  hands,  and  praying  half  aloud  ;  sometimes  I  rouse  the  little 
child  sleeping  beside  me,  that  I  may  not  feel  utterly  alone  ;  then 
rise  and  examine  my  door,  my  window,  to  make  sure  of  their 
fastenings  ! 

What  is  it  that  I  dread  ?  Nothing  for  myself,  surely.  He 
would  never  harm  me,  I  know.  No,  it  is  all  for  Jasper;  I  fear 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  341 

that  he  will  not  leave  his  work  unfinished  ;  I  fear  that  my  vigi- 
lance, even,  may  prove  insufficient  to  protect  him.  When  Dr. 
Quintilian  comes,  I  ought,  perhaps,  from  a  sense  of  duty  and 
justice  to  both  father  and  child,  to  surrender  this  precious  charge, 
that  is  wearing  my  life  out — that  is  still  almost  a  part  of  it  now — 
yes,  life  itself  to  me  1 


The  painful  and  long  dreaded  explanation  has  taken  place  at 
last ;  I  am  greatly  relieved.  I  am  lost,  too,  in  admiration  of  my 
husband's  forbearance,  tenderness,  generosity — can  I  call  it  so  ? 
My  soul  has  felt  a  strong  rebound  toward  its  old  allegiance,  yet 
the  late  implacability  is  not  altogether  subdued.  When  one  has 
forborne  and  suffered  in  silence  a  long  time,  and  at  length  with- 
drawn from  an  offender,  it  is  so  difficult  to  return  ! 

Yet  there  is  a  far  better  understanding  now  than  before.  It 
occurred  in  this  way :  Biauca  came  to  me  about  twilight  last 
evening,  to  say  that  Mr.  Bouverie  wished  to  see  me  in  his  study. 
After  our  late  dinner,  I  had  gone  to  my  chamber,  he  to  his 
labors,  as  I  supposed,  to  be  separated  during  the  whole  evening. 
I  had  remarked  nothing  unusual  in  his  manner  during  the  day. 
He  was  still  silent,  and  abstracted,  vivacious  by  fits  and  starts 
only — his  habit  of  late — yet  always  courteous  and  attentive  to 
minor  amenities  even. 

I  did  not  hesitate  to  obey  his  summons  instantly,  though  not 
without  trepidation,  I  confess.  Bianca  took  my  place  by  Jasper. 
I  nassed  through  the  deserted  house,  the  long  dim  hall,  into  the 
wing,  and  groping  along  its  narrow  entry,  found  the  knob  of  the 
library  door  at  last,  and  opened  it  suddenly,  yet  softly  I  suppose, 
for  Mr.  Bouverie  did  not  seem  to  notice  my  entrance  for  some  time 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEEIE. 

He  was  standing  on  the  rag  with  his  back  to  me  when  I  en- 
tered, in  an  attitude  denoting  deep  reverie  or  abstraction.  A 
brilliant  lamp  burned  on  the  office  table,  the  coal  fire  gave  out 
its  ruddy,  bituminous  light.  The  room  seemed  radiant,  after  the 
shadow  without.  I  stood  leaning  with  one  hand  on  the  back  of 
the  great  chair  behind  him,  waiting  for  him  to  take  the  initiative. 
At  last,  perceiving  plainly  that  he  was  unconscious  of  my  pre- 
sence, I  spoke  to  him. 

"  Erastus,  I  am  here,"  I  said. 

"  Good  God,  Camilla,  why  did  you  not  speak  before  ?  I 
thought  it  was  Gabriel  who  came  in  with  coals."  As  he  wheeled 
suddenly  into  the  light,  I  saw  that  his  face  was  agitated  ;  he  ex- 
tended both  hands  to  me,  then  dropped  them  again,  as  he  saw  that 
I  did  not  observe  or  accept  his  greeting.  My  demeanor  was 
frozen.  I  think  I  had  trembled  at  first,  now  I  was  cold  and  reso- 
lute ;  I  cannot  understand  why  this  was.  His  manner  was  surely 
very  affecting,  I  had  rarely  seen  him  so  shaken  with  emotion  ; 
mine  seemed  crusted  with  ice,  I  know. 

"  Camilla,"  he  said,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  speaking  in 
tones  of  persuasive  gentleness,  "  there  is  a  shadow  between  us, 
who  shall  put  it  aside  ?" 

I  did  not  reply,  I  scarcely  knew  how  to  answer  his  subtile,  yet 
dominant,  question. 

"  I  mean,"  he  continued,  after  a  brief  pause,  "  whence  does  it 
fall,  Camilla  ?" 

"  Is  there  any  shadow  without  a  substance,"  I  murmured 
low. 

"  Question  for  question  !  Well  done,  little  Quaker,"  he  said, 
with  sarcastic  quickness,  smiling  faintly  as  he  spoke,  with  a  flash 
in  his  eye,  that  betokened  anything  but  merriment,  "  I  see,  after 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          343 

all,"  he  continued,  "  that  it  falls  on  me  to  open  this  negotiation 
of  ours,  and  that  you  are  guarded  at  all  points." 

Then  dropping  his  playful  manner  as  suddenly  as  he  had 
assumed  it,  he  stretched  forth  his  hands,  again  clasped  both  of 
mine  tightly,  and  asked  ;n  pathetic  and  tender  accents  the  ques- 
tion he  should  have  put  to  me  at  first  without  preamble,  had  he 
understood  me  better. 

"  My  love  !  my  love  !  what  is  it  that  divides  us  ?"  He  drew 
me  toward  him  as  he  spoke. 

His  words,  his  tones  thrilled  me  now.  "  Oh  Bouverie  !"  I  mur- 
mured, as  I  drooped  my  brow  on  his  hands,  still  closely  clasping 
mine,  "  Do  you  not  surmise  the  obstacle  ?  Why  ask  me  this  vain 
question  ?" 

"  It  is,  can  it  be  that  chimera  still,  about — about — Jasper  ?" 
He   tried   to  speak  carelessly,   but  he  failed  ;  his  voice  was 
husky,  and  he  cleared  his  throat  impatiently — yet  he  overcame 
this,  and  continued  speaking  low. 

"  Be  frank — be  firm,  Camilla  ;  let  me  hear  the  worst — be  not 
afraid  of  me." 

"  Afraid  of  you,  Erastus  !  Oh,  that  such  a  thing  should  ever 
be — yet  how  can  I  shape  my  words  to  be  my  husband's  accuser?" 
I  looked  him  full  in  the  face  now.  His  eye  quailed,  he  dropped 
my  hands  and  retreated  from  me  to  the  mantel,  against  which 
he  leaned,  or  rather  clung,  in  silence  for  a  time.  I  pitied  him  in- 
expressibly, as  I  saw  the  cold  dew  break  over  his  forehead  and 
upper  lip,  gemming  his  marble  face,  almost  livid  now,  with  some 
great  internal  agony.  In  spite  of  all  that  he  had  done,  all  that  I 
had  suffered,  a  feeling  of  respect,  of  tenderness  even,  still  lingered 
over  the  ruins  of  my  peace.  I  tried  to  appear  unobservant  of 
his  condition  ;  and  greatly  agitated  myself,  I  sat  down  in 


344          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

the  deep  chair,  covered  my  face  with  one  hand,  and  turned 
away. 

"  This  is  unendurable,  Camilla,  unendurable,"  I  heard  him  say, 
at  last,  in  hollow  accents.  "No  man  can  bear  it,  and  live 
another  day  !  To  condemn  me  on  bare  suspicion,  to  shape  an 
intention  from  an  accident,  to  raise  a  suicidal  hand  against  your 
own  happiness,  to  trample  mine  to  dust " 

"  Oh,  Bouverie,  forbear  !  you  know — you  know  I  have  done 
none  of  these  things  1"  I  interrupted. 

"  So  changed,  too  !"  he  pursued — "  so  hard,  so  cold  now,  once 
so  true,  so  tender,  so  confiding  1" 

I  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"  Who  has  wrought  this  change  ?"  I  demanded.  He  did 
uot  seem  to  hear  or  heed  me. 

"  Years  ago,"  he  continued  ;  "  years  ago,  when  appearances 
were  stronger  against  me  even  than  they  now  are,  a  similar 
phantom  rose  between  us  !  How  did  you  meet  it,  then  ? 

"  With  courage,  with  faith,  with  fidelity  1  With  a  resolution 
that  I  silently  admired — nay,  marvelled  at — you  grappled  with, 
and  laid  it  in  its  grave  at  once,  and  forever.  Can  you  not  as  well 
exorcise  this  demon  that  haunts  you  now  ?  Is  there  none  of  the 
old  leaven  left,  Camilla  ?  Is  love  for  your  husband  dead  ?  That 
love  t^iat  wrestled  so  nobly  with  the  enemy  of  your  peace,  and 
finally,  through  its  own  constancy,  triumphed  over,  and  dis- 
pelled it  ?" 

"  Dispelled  it  ?  no,  Erastus  !  Triumphed  over  it  ?  yes !  These 
things  are  different.  Yet  why,  if  you  saw  all  this,  and  felt  your- 
self aggrieved  by  my  suspicion,  did  you  not  speak  before  ?  Was 
it  just,  was  it  merciful  to  treat  me  so  ?  Could  any  boon  of  life 
have  been  half  so  dear  to  me,  as  the  conviction  of  your  innocence? 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE.          345 

Has  heaven,  itself,  a  higher  reward  to  offer,  for  a  life  of  penance, 
than  such  a  conviction  would  be  to  me  now — hereafter  ?" 
Hs  smiled  grimly,  coldly. 

"  Such  dreams  must  wear  away  of  themselves,"  he  said  ;  "  or 
be  laid  to  rest  by  the  spirit  that  gave  them  birth.  Mine  was  the 
wiser  part  ;  you  would  not  have  believed  me." 

"  Even  now,  I  will  believe  you,"  I  cried,  starting  up  before  him. 
"  If  you  will  swear  that  you  who  are  innocent — you  have  never 
deceived  me  in  words !  The  blood  in  your  veins  would  recoil  from 
perjury.  Swear  to  me  on  this  crucifix — the  emblem  of  your 
mother's  faith  and  mine — that  you  are  guiltless  of  bloodshed  in  the 
past,  of  cruelty  in  the  present — and  I  will  believe  you,  Bouverie." 

I  loosed  the  crucifix  from  my  neck,  and  extended  it  to  him. 

He  raised  his  hand,  then  let  it  fall  again  nervelessly. 

"  This  is  child's  play,"  he  said  ;  "  put  up  your  toy — let  us  talk 
rationally." 

"  I  ask  you  for  iny  peace,  and  you  mock  me  !  It  is  well  1"  I 
spoke,  passionately. 

"  Be  calm — be  calm,"  he  commanded,  waving  his  hand. 

;<  Are  you  quite  sure,  after  all,  that  I  have  it  in  my  power  to 
repair  the  past,  by  any  oath  of  mine  ?"  he  asked,  mildly,  after  a 
pause.  "  Do  you  think  conviction  can  be  forced  from  its  long- 
established  channel?  Remember  that  old  Bluebeard  legend, 
that  tells  how  the  spots  came  back  on  the  golden  key,  as  fast 
as  they  were  rubbed  away.  I  fear  me,  you  are  Fatima  ! 

"  Then  use  your  reason  !  Would  a  man,  capable  of  commit- 
ting such  dark  deeds  of  bloodshed  and  oppression  as — as  you 
assign  to  me,  shrink  from  falsehood,  perjury,  even,  to  conceal 
them  ?  Do  you  suppose  any  mere  lip-deep  code  of  honor  would 
reach  to  such  depth  of  dissimulation,  as  such  a  person  would  cov,- 


346  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

tain  in  his  own  spirit  ?     Yet,  if  you  persist — hear  me,  Camilla.31 
He  raised  his  hand. 

"No,  no,"  I  cried,  springing  wildly  forward.  "Not  that,  it  is 
too  late  now — spare  yourself  this  unnecessary  sin.  Leave  one 
white  spot  on  your  conscience,  I  entreat  you.  I  will  forego 
the  rest." 

His  hand  had  fallen  while  I  said  these  words  ;  his  eye  blazed. 
Those  were  the  first  reproaches  I  had  ever  addressed  to  him  ; 
oh,  bitterly  I  rue  them  already  1 

What  right  have  I,  his  wife,  to  add  one  feather  to  the  burden 
that  must  rest  on  his  remorseful  head  ?  What  right  have  I  to 
probe  his  wounds,  to  tamper  with  his  conscience  ? 

There  was  a  long  silence,  during  part  of  which  he  continued 
standing  before  me,  I  had  resumed  my  seat ;  then  slowly  leaving 
his  position,  he  commenced  pacing  the  room  with  measured  steps, 
his  hands  behind  him,  his  head  cast  down,  almost  on  his  breast, 
his  face  half  concealed  from  observation  by  his  sweeping  hah*.  I 
turned  involuntarily,  and  followed  him  as  if  my  eyes  had  been 
fascinated.  How  stately,  how  elegant  he  seemed — stepping  so 
lightly,  so  evenly,  to  and  fro — so  firmly  too,  as  though  he  could  tread 
down  every  obstacle  in  life,  as  he  has  trodden  down  every  scruple ! 
What  a  princely  bearing  he  has  !  What  a  distinguished  mien  1 
What  intellectual  power  breathes  all  about  him  !  Yet,  all  this 
splendor  is  sullied  by  "  one  little  spot." 

Suddenly  he  stopped  by  the  study  table,  and  extending  his 
hand,  took  up  the  gold  snuff-box  he  always  keeps  beside  him,  and 
smelt  its  contents  through  the  half  parted  lid,  then  spoke  with 
gaiety. 

"  I  shall  come  to  the  royal  habit  by  and  by,"  he  said.  "  Camilla, 
did  you  know  that  all  kings  take  snuff  ?" 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE,  347 

I  started  at  the  strangely  irrelevant  question.  "  So  do  inquisi- 
tors," he  added,  smiling,  and  advancing  toward  me  with  a  glitter 
in  his  eye,  "  Pray,  have  a  pinch  !" 

I  understood  his  sarcasm,  but  took  no  notice  of  it,  his  levity 
gave  me  such  exquisite  pain,  on  his  own  account.  He  turned  and 
deposited  the  box  on  the  mantel,  against  which  he  leaned  again, 
with  folded  arms 

"  So  you  would  play  the  part  of  angel  to  my  Mahomet — eh  I 
Camilla,  and  wring  the  black  drop  from  my  heart,  would 
you  ?  Ah  !  my  child,  wait  until  your  wings  are  grown.  Do 
not  unsphere  yourself,  you  are  but  mortal  yet,  however  beau- 
tiful." 

"  Erastus,"  I  said,  "  sneer  as  you  will,  my  words  have  touched 
your  soul ;  yet  if  they  have  been  undue,  forgive  them.  I  shall 
not  repeat  the  offence." 

He  seemed  softened,  a  tremor  ran  over  his  flexible  features. 

"  You  have  been  hard  on  me,  Camilla,  in  more  ways  than  one. 
Hard  in  judgment,  hard  in  act ;  yet  whatever  may  be  the  truth 
as  concerns  your  suspicions  of  me,  how  have  I  injured  you  person- 
ally, that  you  should  rise  up  against  me  an  avenging  Nemesis  ? 
Is  it  the  part  of  a  wife  to  sit  in  judgment  on  the  husband  ?  Is  she 
even  permitted  in  law  to  testify  against  him  ?  Yet  yon  take  upon 
yourself  both  offices." 

He  paused  for  a  reply.     I  made  none. 

"  After  all,  my  love,"  he  resumed,  speaking  again  in  that 
quivering  and  emotional  voice,  peculiar  to  him,  when  excited,  and 
almost  irresistible  in  its  pathos.  "  After  all,  my  love,  despite 
appearances,  despite  reality  even,  admitting  both  to  be  true,  for 
the  sake  of  argument  merely,  is  there  no  such  thing  as  for 

givoness  possible  with  you  ?    Have  you  no  mercy,  Camilla  ?" 
31 


348  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

Again  he  approached  me  and  clasped  my  hands,  looking  long 
into  my  face,  then  mutely  raising  my  fingers  to  his  lips,  he  kissed 
them  many  times,  fervently.  I  felt  his  hot  tears  falling  on  my 
hands.  They  stirred  me  strangely.  They  were  the  first  I  had 
ever  known  him  to  shed.  I  started  to  my  feet.  I  spoke  pas- 
sionately. 

"  Forgiveness  1  Oh,  do  not  ask  this  of  me  !  The  holy  Saviour, 
the  mighty  Father,  the  intermediating  Saints  and  Virgin,  it  is  of 
them  you  should  ask  forgiveness.  Pour  out  your  heart  to  our 
beloved  Bishop  Clare,  he  who  joined  our  hands  in  sacred  mar- 
riage, who  feels  so  deeply  for  us  both,  and  take  his  counsel,  what- 
ever that  may  be.  Do  this  and  you  will  be  happy  again,  Erastus  ; 
but  my  forgiveness,  what  could  that  avail  ? 

"  Much,  much,"  he  murmured,  "  more  than  all  beside." 

He  was  kneeling  before  me  now,  he  so  haughty,  so  unbending 
usually,  his  head  buried  in  my  lap,  like  that  of  a  little  child.  He 
was  shaken  with  a  storm  of  weeping.  After  awhile  he  said,  lift- 
ing his  head  again,  speaking  in  supplicating  accents — 

"  I  must  have  your  forgiveness  first,  then  I  will  be  strong  to 
seek  divine  favor.  Tell  me,  Camilla,  that  all  shadows  are  put 
aside,  that  you  pardon  me,  love  me  again — are  mine  ?" 

I  could  not  tell  him  this,  I  have  grown  so  hard,  so  inflexible, 
of  late,  I  fear.  I  sat  in  tearful  silence.  He  mistook  its  cause,  pro- 
bably, for,  throwing  his  arms  around  me,  he  drew  me  closely, 
suddenly  to  his  breast.  I  shuddered  irresistibly.  It  was  but  a 
little  tremor,  quick  to  come  and  quick  to  go — one  of  those  chills 
we  feel,  it  is  said,  when  a  foot  passes  over  the  place  where  our 
grave  shall  be — yet  he  marked  it.  His  arms  relaxed,  he  rose,  he 
turned  away,  and  took  a  distant  chair.  When  he  looked  at  me 
again  I  saw  that  his  face  wore  that  air  of  haughty  indifference,  I 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  349 

nad  caught  by  glimpses  of  its  expression  when  he  paced  the  floor, 
and  again  I  shivered.  «>/ 

I  knew  that  I  had  acted  unwisely,  but  I  could  not  feign.  I 
sat  in  silence. 

"  You  are  implacable,  Camilla,"  he  said,  at  length  ;  "  this  even- 
ing has  been  wasted  in  pursuit  of  a  vain  shadow  ;  I  cannot 
fathom  a  nature  like  yours,  I  have  not  known  you  thoroughly — 
though  so  long  " 

He  waved  his  hand. 

"  Go,  my  love,"  he  said,  "  I  will  not  keep  you  longer  from — 
Jasper." 

He  coughed  impatiently,  and  slightly  stamped  his  foot,  then 
rose  and  touched  the  bell.  The  attendant  answered  its  summons 
instantaneously,  as  if  starting  from  the  floor. 

I  moved  slowly,  somewhat  indignantly  toward  the  door,  thus 
loftily  dismissed. 

"  Gabriel,"  he  added,  "light  your  mistress  across  the  corridor. 
Madam,  good  night." 

He  bowed  with  a  deep  mocking  deference,  that  I  knew  of  old 

I  was  glad  to  find  myself  once  more  alone,  and  secure,  in  mj 
own  chamber. 


Another  partly  painful  scene  with  Mr.  Bouverie  !  This  morn- 
ing, when  I  went  into  the  breakfast-room,  I  found  Erastus  writing. 
When  our  meal  was  concluded,  he  handed  me  the  letter  to  read, 
on  which  lie  had  been  engaged.  It  was  addressed  to  Dr.  Luther 
Quintilian.  I  found,  to  my  surprise,  that  it  contained  a  courteous 
request  that  he  would  make  his  arrangements  as  speedily  as  pos 
Bible,  to  remove  Jasper,  alleging  as  a  reason,  that  my  health  was 


350  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

giving  way  under  the  continuous  care  required  of  me,  and  that  it 
was  his  intention  to  travel  with  me,  for  its  benefit.  He  recom- 
mended Chapel  Hill,  as  a  suitable  asylum  for  Jasper,  should  it 
not  be  convenient  to  dispose  of  him  otherwise. 

"  Jasper  at  Chapel  Hill !"  I  said,  indignantly;  "  Jasper,  a  mute, 
an  infant  still,  scarcely  four  years  old  !  What  would  become  of 
him  there  in  that  vortex  of  boys  ?  Paul  himself  found  it  hard 
work  to  get  along  with  them  at  eleven.  What  could  this  poor 
baby  do  ?" 

I  could  not  help  shedding  tears  at  the  very  thought. 

"  No,"  I  said,  "  I  will  not  give  him  up  until  Luther  comes  in 
person  to  demand  him  of  me.  Then  he  shall  receive  back  the 
wreck  of  what  he  brought  so  nobly  beautiful ;  until  that  time 
comes  I  will  maintain  the  duty  that  circumstances  have  rendered 
doubly  imperative,  that  the  hand  of  misfortune  has  sealed  so 
sacredly  now." 

He  eyed  me  with  sarcastic  bitterness.  "  Suppose  it  should  not 
suit  me  to  wait  the  advent  of  Luther  ?  Suppose  I  use  my 
authority  and  send  Jasper  to  Chapel  Hill,  what  then,  Camilla  ?" 

"  I  will  go,  too,"  I  answered  stolidly.  + 

"No,  you  will  go  with  me,  Camilla,"  he  remarked,  calmly, 
"  should  I  desire  it ;  you  are  too  dutiful  a  wife,  I  know,  to  stand 
in  open  rebellion  against  your  husband." 

"  You  have  forgotten,"  I  said,  "  or  repudiated  the  opinions  you 
once  uttered,  when  you  said  that  Bernadotte  owed  everything  tc 
Sweden,  when  choice  lay  between  his  allegiance  to  the  country  of 
his  adoption  and  to  his  benefactor,  who  wished  him  to  destroy, 
after  giving  to  his  care,  that  people.  This  is  a  case  in  point ; 
I  admired  the  sentiments  you  expressed  on  that  occasion  so  much 
that  I  have  adopted  them  as  my  code  of  action  from  that  time. 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEREE.  351 

'Duty  to  our  dependents  is  the  highest  of  all  duties,'  you  averred, 
'and  its  fulfillment  allies  us  nearer  than  any  other  to  our 
Maker.  He  who  shrinks  from  a  responsibility  of  this  kind  is 
unworthy  to  live.'  These  were  your  words,  Erastus." 

"  I  recollect  them  well,"  he  rejoined,  with  a  grim  smile.  "  I 
went  further,"  he  added,  "  I  attacked  the  legend  of  Abraham's 
sacrifice  of  Isaac  as  too  unnatural  to  be  true,  or,  if  true,  too 
craven  to  have  met  with,  or  deserved  God's  favor.  Do  you 
remember  this,  also,  Camilla  ?" 

"  I  do,"  I  replied  ;  "  but  I  deemed  it  unnecessary  to  reply  to 
such  irreverence  on  your  part,  however  nobly  conceived  the  sen- 
timent might  have  been.  I  try  to  remember  only  those  things 
that  place  you  in  the  most  favorable  light,  Erastus." 

"  Strange,  dutiful  forbearance  !  you  do  not  always  succeed, 
however,  it  seems  ;  I  thank  you,  though,  for  the  effort.  In  the 
meantime,  I  agree  with  your  sagacious  and  novel  remark  of  the 
other  night,  '  That  no  shadow  falls  without  a  suggestive  sub- 
stance.' In  accordance  with  this  conviction  I  propose,  for  your 
own  sake,  and  mine,  if  not  for  his  own,  to  remove  Jasper." 

I  gasped,  I  grew  faint. 

His  eye  sparkled,  he  fixed  it  on  me,  he  sneered,  laughed  in- 
wardly, extended  his  hand  for  the  letter  I  still  held,  took  it, 
raised  it  a  moment  before  his  eyes,  as  if  skimming  its  contents, 
then,  as  if  relenting,  suddenly  thrust  it  into  the  grate. 

The  act  affected  me,  not  more,  however,  than  the  rapid  and 
unaccountable  change  in  his  features  and  expression.  These  were 
now  profoundly  sad,  and  subdued,  as  he  stood,  looking  into  the 
fire,  watching  the  last  filmy  elements  of  the  paper  dissolve  hi 
flame. 

"  No  more  of  this,  no  more  despotism,"  he  murmured,  as  if 


852  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

speaking  unconsciously  aloud,  "  it  is  not  in  this  way  men  get  back 
the  love  of  women  ;  yet  how  regain  the  inestimable  treasure 
when  once  lost  ?  Who  shall  teach  me  this  lesson  ?" 

"  Let  me  be  your  instructor.  Oh,  my  husband  I"  I  said, 
clinging  to  his  hand,  which  I  had  taken,  and  which,  for  a  moment, 
he  struggled  to  withdraw.  "  You  taught  me  once,  let  me  be  your 
teacher  now."  I  felt  his  fingers  close  over  mine  like  steel. 

"  And  what  will  you  teach  me,  little  philosopher,  special 
pleader,  persuasive  preacher  that  you  are,  that  you  have  not 
taught  me  long  ago  ?" 

He  smiled  with  sudden  sweetness,  and  stooping,  kissed  my 
brow.  "  To  be  patient,"  I  said,  "  with  me,  your  patient,  for  I 
am  sick,  Erastus — soul-sick,  perhaps,  yet  none  the  less  entitled  tc 
your  charity  ;  help  me  to  repair  the  past,  be  kind  to  our  mother- 
less mute  one,  let  me  continue  a  little  longer  my  ministry  to  him, 
be  tender,  be  forbearing  to  me,  your  suffering  wife,  and  we  shall 
be  happy  again.  Yes,  happier  than  before." 

"  Be  it  as  you  desire,"  he  said,  "  my  wife,  too  well  beloved  for 
my  own  peace  of  mind,  perhaps  ;  yet  tremble,  Camilla,"  he  added, 
gravely,  "lest  God  bring  you  to  a  fuller  sense  of  your  depen- 
dence on  your  husband  yet,  in  his  own  way,  in  his  own  time." 

I  did  tremble,  involuntarily,  as  he  spoke  these  low,  deep,  pro- 
phetic words,  in  his  stern,  impressive  manner.  Yet  my  determina- 
tion was  unshaken  to  carry  out  my  task,  and  to  wait  for  his 
evidenced  repentance,  before  taking  up  the  old  clue  of  life  again, 
followed  in  blind  despair  so  long,  so  faithfully. 

I  have  discerned  in  myself,  at  last,  an  inflexibility  of  character 
that  repels  me  almost  from  my  own  nature  !  Is  this  hard,  cold, 
implacable  being,  the  same  Camilla  Byrne,  so  tender,  so  impas- 
sioned once,  so  gay,  so  universally  confiding  ?  Alas,  for  change  I 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  353 

March. 

After  three  months  passed  in  shadow,  what  joy  it  is  to  be  per- 
mitted to  write  again,  to  resume  occupation  of  any  sort !  I  have 
been  threatened  with  blindness,  a  lot  I  have  ever  dreaded  more 
than  death  itself,  or  even  insanity.  I  hare  not  been  able  to  dis- 
tinguish the  features  of  any  face  around  me  distinctly  until  now, 
since  my  first  attack,  and  there  were  times  when  even  the  outlines 
of  forms  and  objects  were  merged  in  the  surrounding  greyness. 

I  seemed  to  be  groping  in  everlasting  twilight.  Colors  were 
extinguished,  and  the  strongest  rays  of  sunshine  resembled  the 
struggling  beams  of  moonlight  as  seen  through  a  hazy  cloud. 
Forms  came  and  went  like  phantoms,  and  a  miserable  bewilder- 
ment possessed  my  brain. 

Dr.  Moore  thinks  this  changing  color  of  mine  betokens  too 
strong  an  inclination  of  blood  to  the  head,  so  he  has  bled  me 
copiously.  But  to  this  treatment  Mr.  Bouverie  sternly  objects, 
and  will  not  suffer  it  to  be  repeated.  He  consented  only  to  the 
use  of  a  tonic  draught — alternated  with  one  of  a  depleting 
nature,  and  I  have  received  my  medicine  from  his  attentive  hand 
alone,  during  my  whole  sickness. 

His  ministry  has  indeed  been  most  kind  and  constant,  by  night 
and  day.  Anticipating  my  wishes,  my  anxieties,  he  gave  Jasper 
to  Bianca's  care,  and  occupied  himself  solely  with  me.  While  I 
lay  in  that  dark  bondage,  all  he  could  do  to  soothe,  to  cheer  me 
was  earnestly  attempted.  He  gave  up  his  valuable  correspon- 
dence— extinguished  the  fires  of  his  laboratory — laid  by  his  books. 
All  this  for  the  sake  of  the  wife  who  shuddered,  a  little  while  ago, 
at  his  touch — his  embrace  ! 

He  has  not  forgotten  this,  evidently,  with  all  his  tenderness — 
and  there  is  a  delicacy  in  hi?  ministry  that  renders  it  doubly  deal 


354  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

And  now,  that  I  can  see  clearly  again — who  rejoices  with  me  as 
he  rejoices  ?  He  lingers  about  me  watchfully,  tenderly,  waiting 
hopefully,  now  I  perceive  plainly,  for  old  feelings  to  reassert  them- 
selves in  my  breast. 

I  thank  him — I  bless  him  for  all  this  ;  yet,  the  tune  is  not  yet, 
despite  my  gratitude.  Why  did  he  permit  the  fire  to  burn  down 
to  ashes  ?  Oh,  why  was  I  constituted  as  I  am — inexorable  ? 

Yet  this  trial  was  good  for  me,  perhaps — wisely  bestowed  by  a 
chastening  hand,  and  those  prophetic  words  that  thrilled  me  so, 
when  spoken  by  Erastus,  are  proved  at  last. 

I  have  been  clearly  shown  my  dependence  on  my  husband.  I 
have  been  shown  much  more.  The  unacknowledged  beauty  and 
blessing  of  my  life,  with  all  its  surroundings  of  taste  and  comfort, 
over  which  the  curtain  of  darkness  was  flung  for  a  time,  as  if  to 
make  me  recognize  its  loveliness  at  last,  with  a  heart  full  of  praise 
and  humility,  is  made  plain  to  me  now. 

Am  I  not  called  upon,  too,  by  the  pressure,  and  by  the  lifting 
of  this  rod,  to  avow  my  presumption  in  judging  so  harshly  of  my 
husband's  acts  ?  Have  I  been  in  error,  or  too  precipitate  ?  Had 
I  a  right  to  appoint  myself  his  judge  ?  Yet,  after  all,  was  not 
this  involuntary,  natural,  even,  under  the  circumstances  1 

Self-justification  again  ! 


To-day,  when  I  said  to  Mr.  Bouverie,  ' '  Dr.  Moore  thinks  I 
have  been  threatened  with  amaarosis,"  I  could  not  help  the  re- 
currence of  something  of  the  old  feeling  of  fear  and  mistrust,  as  I 
caught  the  expression  of  his  eye. 

It  was  full  of  malignant  laughter.  "  Dr.  Moore  is  an  oracle,* 
he  said,  in  scoffing  accents,  and  turned  away. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          355 

I  dropped  the  subject,  but  my  heart  sank  inwardly.  I  had  so 
noped  for  a  cluinge  in  him,  radical,  deep-searching  ;  something 
that  would  repress  in  future  all  demonstrations  of  this  kind  1  I 
scarcely  know  why  this  slight  incident  (if  such  it  may  be  called) 
has  made  such  an  impression  on  me. 

Let  me  record  here  some  notice  of  my  symptoms,  which  may 
be  useful  to  me — though  I  hope  not — for  reference  at  another 
time,  should  this  dark  disease  recur. 

A  night  of  deep  lethargy  preceded  my  first  attack.  I  awoke, 
as  I  thought,  before  daylight,  with  pain  in  my  head  and  eyes,  ac- 
companied with  giddiness.  I  did  not  see  Biauca,  who  was  stand- 
ing at  the  foot  of  my  bed,  for  some  time — and  after  all,  only  as  a 
grey  shadow.  Yet,  it  was  then  past  eight  o'clock,  and  the 
window-blinds  were  open,  and  the  room  flooded  with  sunshine,  as 
she  told  me.  When  the  truth  became  manifest  to  me,  I  was 
greatly  terrified — greatly  stricken.  The  physician  was  promptly 
called — remedies  used  to  reduce  my  condition,  which  my  blood- 
shot eyes  seemed  to  make  necessary  ;  yet,  it  was  nearly  two  weeks 
before  I  began  to  see  again,  with  anything  like  clearness. 

Then  supervened  another  deep  slumber — another  blind  awaken- 
ing— another  fortnight  of  darkness  and  bewilderment,  and  so 
through  the  whole  three  months,  the  disease  continued  to  manifest 
itself,  until  at  last,  as  by  a  merciful  hand,  it  was  slowly  lifted 
away. 

Bishop  Clare  arrived  just  after  my  last  seizure,  and  shared  Mr. 
Bouverie's  vigils  by  my  side  with  prayer  added  to  patience. 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that  his  devout  intercession  hi  my 
behalf  has  had  its  effect.  I  know  that  he  underwent  extreme 
penance  during  this  period  for  my  sake,  and  I  saw  its  effects 
plainly  in  his  face,  when  my  eyes  were  permitted  to  embrace  'is 


356  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVERIE. 

benign  features  again.  What  a  devoted,  unfailing  friend  he  has 
been  to  me  ! 

But  now,  all  is  joy  and  happiness,  and  wild  delight  even,  in  my 
heart.  I  am  bound  up,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else  hi  this  newly- 
recovered  sense  of  mine,  and  all  that  it  gives  back  to  me. 

I  can  see  Jasper's  beautiful  face  again,  and  grasp  his  meaning 
from  its  speaking  expression,  I  can  see  the  tender  green  of  grass 
and  shrub,  that  seem  to  be  making  haste  to  greet  me,  in  this  for- 
ward spring.  Crocus,  and  snowdrop,  and  periwinkle,  and  flower- 
ing almond,  and  budding  peach,  all  wear  a  beauty  not  their  own 
— not  earthly. 

Paradise  seems  opening  before  me  in  the  smiling  face  of  nature, 
and  my  feelings  overflow  with  kindness  to  all  God's  creatures, 
from  the  little  snow-white  lambs  in  tue  pasture,  to  the  poor  gob- 
lin child  of  the  kitchen  hearth,  that  sits  listlessly  with  its  fingers 
in  its  slavering  mouth  all  day,  and  whines  like  a  whipped  puppy. 
When  I  drive  out,  I  find  myself  greeting  common  acquaintances 
as  if  we  had  been  parted  for  years,  and  I  feast  my  eyes  on  the 
dear  faces  of  Erastus  and  Bishop  Clare — the  last  so  soon  to  leave 
us  again — with  joy  and  gratitude. 


Paul's  letters  had  accumulated  during  my  blindness  ;  I  have 
been  reading  them  all  over  with  such  pleasure.  It  is  not  the  same 
thing,  I  think,  to  hear  a  friend's  letter  read,  even  by  a  silvery 
voice,  as  to  trace  the  dear  handwriting  with  you  own  eyes, 
and  mark  its  very  inequalities  as  expressive  of  changing  feel- 
ing. 

To-day,  in  looking  through  a  closet — a  perfect  luxnry  now  to 
me,  so  often  written  down  a  bore  in  these  truthful  pages — I  came 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  357 

across  that  old  Medusa-head  Paul  gave  me  when  he  first  came  to 
Bouyerie. 

It  stirs  me  with  the  same  feeling  now  as  then,  the  beautifnl, 
evil  face.  The  impassible  horror  of  the  perfect  features  is  some- 
thing beyond  description  with  all  its  twisted  snakes  wreathing 
around  the  stately  heroic  head  I  But  a  new  impression  is  now 
added  to  the  old.  It  seems  to  me  that  something  of  this  fabled 
nature  has  entered  into  my  being,  and  I  accept  it  almost  as  a 
type  of  the  past.  I  cannot  conquer  my  aversion  for  this  beautiful 
horror  ! 

Sculpture  has  a  much  more  powerful  influence  over  me  than 
painting.  I  have  wished  for  nothing  so  much  as  to  see  the  grand 
statues  of  antiquity.  I  am  sorry  dear  Paul  does  not  enter  more 
vividly  into  the  inspiration  of  those  old  masters.  One  of  his  re- 
marks appears  to  me  very  significant  of  his  whole  appreciation  of 
art ;  yet  it  made  me  laugh,  and  may  have  been  intended  aa 
enthusiastic. 

He  observed  of  the  Apollo  Belvidere,  that  grandest  of  all 
shapes,  undeniably,  that  it  reminded  him  •'•'  of  a  boy  who  had 
slung  a  pebble  at  a  bird,  and  hit  him  !"  He  considered  it  the 
embodiment  of  the  word  "  success." 

But  what  a  quaint  illustration  ! 


Advices  from  Russia  declare  the  crown  securely  fixed  on  the 
head  of  Nicholas.  He  was  crowned  in  December,  and  renews  his 
brother's  offers  to  Mr.  Bouverie.  We  have  determined  to  cross 
the  ocean  in  May,  taking  Jasper  with  us,  and  Bianca;  Mr.  Graut, 
our  trusty  Scotch  gardener,  who  has  lived  with  us  since  our  ionr- 
riage,  will  remain  in  charge  of  Bonverie. 


358  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

We  are  to  go  first  to  England  and  Scotland  to  visit  Mr. 
Bouverie's  relatives  in  both  places.  The  first,  very  distinguished 
people  of  distant  consanguinity,  connected  with  him  on  his 
mother's  side  ;  the  last,  of  the  true  blood  of  Bouveiie,  honorable 
but  poor.  These  consist  of  Madame  Ambrose,  who  still  survives, 
contrary  to  my  impression,  and  her  beautiful  young  adopted 
daughter,  a  near  relative  of  hers.  They  have  a  romantic  resi- 
dence called  "  Les  Bocages,"  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  lakes, 
and  are  highly  cultivated  persons,  as  he  represents  them. 

Madame  Ambrose,  old  Uncle  Bouverie's  half  sister,  married  a 
French  gentleman  of  family  who  lost  all  in  the  Revolution,  and 
left  her  in  indigence,  from  which  her  own  exertions  rescued  her 
She  is,  of  course,  a  very  aged  woman.  She  is  said  to  have  been 
excessively  beautiful. 

When  we  reach  Paris  I  shall  place  Jasper  in  his  father's  hands  ; 
I  may  then,  perhaps,  think  more  earnestly  than  now  of  resuming 
my  old  allegiance.  Let  me  first  rest  assured  that  the  penitence 
of  Erastus  is  real  and  enduring. 

The  stains  must  be  purged  from  my  husband's  hands  before  I 
can  clasp  them  again  with  the  olden  confiding  affection.  Alas  ! 
alas  !  that  perished  long  ago,  and  a  mere  phantom  replaced  it, 
conjured  from  the  depths  of  my  fidelity.  Will  the  merciful 
Creator  see  fit  to  restore  the  past  ?  Shall  the  gift  of  perfect  love, 
hi  which  there  is  no  fear,  ever  crown  our  home  again  ?  All  things 
are  possible  to  him,  I  will  not  despair,  and,  for  my  part,  I  would 
be  willing  to  be  blind  again,  for  life — what  greater  sacrifice  could 
be  demanded  ? — to  have  back  my  faith  in  Bouverie. 


May  (same  year). 

What  were  those  last  words  I  wrote  in  that  record  of  a  dupe  ? 
"  Faith  in  Bouverie  !" — were  those  the  words  ?     They  stand  out 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OP    BOUVEEIE.  359 

strange  and  distorted  from  the  paper  as  I  gaze,  they  stagger  as 
I  staggered,  when  the  hideous  drugs  were  asserting  their  power 
over  me,  the  black  drop,  the  morphine,  the  belladonna,  the 
digitalis  ! 

Let  me  read  back  a  little  way  in  my  journal,  unopened  now  for 
weeks,  and  smile  at  the  fond  foolishness  of  her  who  wrote  those 
pages  !  Camilla  Bouverie,  you  were  a  good,  a  trusting  creature 
in  those  days,  what  are  you  now  ?  Hard,  cold,  cunning  as  the 
arch-fiend  Bouverie  himself  1 

The  ship  has  sailed,  I  am  alone,  it  is  with  a  kind  of  rapture  I 
say  these  words,  and  yet,  to  the  very  last,  he  thought  I  would 
accompany  him — gulled  by  the  gull  !  A  just,  an  uncommon 
retribution. 

At  the  very  last  moment,  just  as  the  anchor  was  being  weighed, 
Dr.  Moore  handed  him  my  letter,  and  that  mysterious  piece  of 
brass  wire — shock  for  shock  ;  how  they  must  have  startled  him 
I  can  imagine  his  writhing  lip,  his  blazing  eye,  and  the  cold  drops 
of  dew  gemming  his  livid  face.  I  wish  that  I  had  been  there  to 
see  ! 

Dr.  Moore  must  have  been  surprised  at  the  effect  of  his  mission 
too,  for  he  knew  nothing  either  of  the  contents  of  the  letter  or 
the  significance  of  the  wire. 

One  person  only  knows,  that  is  Bianca  ;  I  told  her  all  on  the 
morning  after  the  occurrence,  and  she  helped  me  faithfully  to 
carry  out  my  plan. 

Well  as  she  knew  him  before,  she  was  overwhelmed  with  the 
intelligence  of  his  latest  prank  of  cruelty,  of  perfidy.  How  he 
has  luxuriated  of  late  in  his  favorite  elements  !  What  a.n 
adept  he  has  grown  to  be  sure  !  What  a  right  hand  assistant 
Satan  has  in  him  ! 


360  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

And  this  man  was  my  husband  1  "  Faith  in  Bouverie."  Yes, 
my  faith  is  perfect  now,  fixed,  unalienable.  No  more  doubts,  no 
more  self-conflicts — matters  are  unchangeable,  and  better  so, 
perhaps  !  Oh,  God  !  how  hard  ;  hovv  wicked  he  has  made  me. 
I  could  not  have  been  persuaded  ;  no,  nothing  but  the  demonstra- 
tion of  my  own  senses  could  have  convinced  me,  that  he  would 
have  harmed  me  ! 

While  he  was  pretending  to  love  me  so  tenderly — while  he  ap- 
peared to  be  guarding  me  at  every  point,  ministering  to  me  so 
unmeaningly — he  was  all  the  time  stabbing  my  dearest  preroga- 
tive, again  and  again,  to  death  and  destruction.  Striking  at  my 
sight — blinding  the  creature  he  held  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand — 
and  with  such  vain  sophistry  tortured  himself  to  believe  he  loved? 
Do  we  harm  the  creatures  we  love  ?  No,  God  knows  we  do 
not — and  that  such  test  is  never  applied  in  vain  ! 

Now  that  he  is  gone  I  can  write  the  whole  history.  I  can 
seize  my  pen,  now  that  the  miserable  lying  bandages  are  dis- 
carded— and  that  the  light  of  heaven  is  permitted  to  stream 
again  into  my  long-darkened  room.  Lie  there,  green  shade,  with 
your  deep  frill  of  black  lace  ;  lie  there,  blue  glasses  ;  lie  there, 
fine  linen  handkerchief,  steeped  in  rose-water  so  long — apparently, 
to  cool  the  feverish  lids,  and  assist  the  necessary  stratagem.  Ac- 
cessories of  fraud,  and  yet  of  safety,  worn  each  in  turn,  to  conceal 
the  truth  and  preserve  me  from  further  injury  ;  lie  there,  I  have 
done  with  you,  I  trust,  for  life. 

He  will  return  no  more  !  His  property  lies  in  England,  mine 
is  all  here  ;  I  shall  ask  him  for  nothing. 

My  income,  small  as  it  is,  with  the  produce  of  this  domain,  will 
support  me  and  mine,  in  a  frugal  way.  The  new  gardener, 
Smith,  has  been  paid  in  advance  for  one  year.  Hereafter,  if  he 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  361 

pleases  me,  the  contract  will  rest  upon  different  grounds,  and  be 
proportioned  to  suit  the  productions  of  his  hand. 

I  do  not  like  his  face — it  is  almost  fearful  to  me  ;  yet,  if  he 
does  his  work  well,  why  should  I  mind  this  ?  Besides,  may  I  not 
be  wholly  morbid  now — bitter  and  high-strung  as  I  feel  ?  Will 
anything  ever  appear  fair  and  pleasant  to  me  again,  except  that 
little  face  that  knows  no  guile  ;  sealed  into  dumbness  through  his 
act  forever  ? 

He  thought  to  the  last  I  would  go  with  him,  did  he  ?  He  did 
not  know  that  he  had  created  his  match  at  last,  not  met  it  merely. 
He  did  not  know,  that  from  his  own  failure  to  deceive,  had  risen  a 
spirit  of  deceit,  even  stronger  than  his  own.  A  power  to  conceal, 
to  endure,  of  which  he  even  has  no  capacity.  I  had  no  idea  I  had 
such  nerve,  such  capabilities  of  treason  and  treachery  ?  Did  I 
not  say  somewhere  in  this  Diary,  "  I  could  not  feign  ?" 

What  a  weak  creature  I  was  in  those  days — how  contemptible 
in  my  goody  goodiness  !  Stay — how  many  years  ago  was  it  that 
I  wrote  these  words.  Only  six  weeks — only  ! 

Why — have  not  these  been  years  ! — years  !  Oh,  God  !  have 
pity  on  me  I 


Appearances  were  kept  up  to  the  last.  We  out-charlataned  the 
charlatan.  I  am  afraid  Bianca  enjoyed  her  little  histrionic  ar- 
rangements, packing  trunks,  never  destined  to  leave  Bouverie — 
sending  off  silver,  so  soon  to  be  brought  back — wrapping  choice 
books  in  paper — and  linen,  uncovered  already — I  am  afraid 
Bianca  enjoyed  all  this.  Her  life  has  been  so  monotonous  of  Jate, 
it  was  quite  an  excitement !  As  for  me,  I  confess  with  shame, 
that  I  was  conscious  of  a  species  of  exultation  all  the  time,  bordering 


362  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BODTEEIE. 

on  fierceness  ;  but  I  patted  it  down  as  one  would  do  a  half-tamed 
tiger.  He  saw  nothing  of  it,  I  am  convinced,  and  so  to  the  end 
he  believed  I  would  go  with  him.  It  was  essential  to  the  pre- 
servation of  my  life  itself,  perhaps,  to  cheat  him  thus. 

When  at  last  he  could  linger  no  longer,  having,  as  I  well 
knew,  business  of  importance  in  Philadelphia  to  transact,  before 
we  could  take  the  packet  of  the  twentieth — when  he  found  that 
my  preparations  were  not  completed,  he  yielded  readily  to  my 
suggestion,  that  we  could  go  down  later,  with  Dr.  Moore,  so  as  to 
reach  the  packet  in  time. 

I  never  said  that  I  would  go  with  Dr.  Moore — nor  that  I 
would  join  him  in  Philadelphia.  I  only  urged  the  feasibility  of 
the  plan.  From  the  time  I  discovered  his  treachery  I  measured 
my  words,  so  as  to  tell  no  falsehood,  yet  to  leave  the  impression 
I  desired.  Strange  sophistry,  worthy  of  my  teacher  1 

So  he  went  away,  believing  fully  that  I  would  follow  him — and 
Dr.  Moore  believed  it,  too,  to  the  last. 

Had  a  bolt  fallen  at  his  feet  he  could  not  have  appeared  more 
astonished  than  when  I  gave  him  my  letter,  and  looking  upon 
him  with  clear,  unblinded  eyes,  told  him  I  had  renounced  the 
voyage  ! 

He  tried  to  elicit  an  explanation.  I  would  give  him  none,  and 
as  he  was  obliged  to  make  the  journey  on  his  own  account,  he 
consented,  unwillingly  enough,  I  saw,  to  convey  the  letter,  and 
the  small  scroll  containing  the  brass  wire,  to  Mr.  Bouverie.  He 
doubted  his  reception,  I  imagine.  He  has  not  yet  returned, 
but  when  he  does,  his  satisfaction  on  the  subject  will  not  be 
greater,  perhaps,  than  it  now  is.  I  may  lose  his  friendship  in  con- 
sequence of  this.  I  hope  not.  It  has  been  a  solace  to  me  through 
many  years.  His  kindness,  in  a  medical  point  of  view,  I  never 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVJKKIE.  363 

can  forget,  nor  his  disinterested  zeal  for  my  health  and  welfare 
in  the  past  and  present.  Yet,  I  can  make  no  explanations. 
All  this  while  I  linger  from  my  record. 


It  was  on  the  night  of  the  10th  or  12th  of  April — I  forget 
which — that  the  scales  fell  from  my  eyes,  never  to  veil  them  again, 
and  the  soul  of  Erastus  Bouverie  was  disclosed  to  me  in  all  its 
hideousness,  and  I  saw  into  the  depths  of  hell. 

I  had  an  attack  of  pain,  I  remember  ;  one  of  those  spasms  of 
the  heart  to  which  I  am  rather  subject,  but  which  always  pass 
away  without  any  remedy. 

On  that  occasion,  Mr.  Bouverie  insisted  upon  it  that  I  should 
try  a  draught  he  knew  how  to  prepare,  especially  suited  to  these 
attacks.  I  had  eaten  my  supper  and  felt  disinclined  for  medicine  ; 
but  when  we  parted  at  bedtime,  I  consented  to  take  it  with  me 
to  my  chamber.  He  could  not  prevail  upon  me  to  drink  it  then, 
in  his  presence,  which  I  know  npw  he  desired  that  I  should  do 
for  reasons  of  his  own.  So  I  carried  it  off  in  a  slender  Venetian 
glass  he  kept  for  his  own  especial  use. 

When  I  had  undressed  myself,  and  was  ready  for  bed,  I  stood 
on  the  hearth  a  moment,  poising  the  draught  between  my  eyes 
and  the  night-lamp  ;  I  saw  that  there  was  sediment  in  the  bottom 
of  the  glass.  The  odor  of  the  draught  was  pleasant  ;  but  when 
I  tasted  it,  which  I  barely  did,  without  disturbing  the  sediment, 
I  found  it  permeated  with  the  same  peculiar  flavor  that  I  so  dis- 
tinctly remembered  as  having  lingered  on  my  palate  on  the  night 
of  my  first  seizure,  after  drinking  my  coffee. 

I  had  been  seized  soon  after  supper  that  night  with  slight  giddi- 


364  THE   HOC  BEHOLD   OF   BOUVBRIE. 

ness  and  nausea ;  had  gone  to  bed  at  my  husband's  solicitation  ;  slept 
heavily,  and  awakened  Mind.  Some  instinctive  misgivings  seemed 
to  possess  me,  associated  with  this  recurring  flavor,  no  doubt.  I 
shaped  no  suspicions,  entertained  none  ;  acted  from  intuitive  impul- 
ses alone,  when  I  emptied  the  draught  in  the  hearth,  and  setting  the 
glass  back  on  the  mantelpiece,  turned  quietly  toward  the  bed. 

Jasper  was  sleeping.  I  knelt  before  the  "  Prie  Dieu  "  and  gave 
up  my  soul  to  prayer.  When  I  went  to  bed,  half  an  hour  later, 
all  thought  of  the  pain  I  had  suffered  (but  of  a  few  moments' 
duration)  or  of  the  draught  my  husband  had  prepared,  was  put 
aside,  as  completely  as  if  these  things  had  never  existed. 

I  had  fastened  the  door  and  window-blinds  according  to  custom  ; 
the  taper  was  left  burning  on  the  hearth.  In  a  few  minutes  I  was 
fast  asleep. 

I  was  awakened  by  the  presence  of  some  moist,  soft  substance 
on  my  eyelids.  Before  I  could  speak,  a  sharp  shock  seemed  to 
pass  through  the  balls,  while  a  flash,  as  if  from  lightning,  blazed 
before  them  ;  revealing  nothing,  however.  The  thought  that  I 
was  lightning-struck,  passed  through  my  brain  with  instantaneous 
swiftness.  I  shrieked,  and  throwing  out  my  arms,  they  came  in 
contact  with  a  hard  substance,  which  in  the  next  moment  fell 
crashing  to  the  floor. 

For  an  instant  I  saw  the  scene  before  me.  Mr.  Bouverie,  with 
his  face  averted,  stood  near  the  bed,  clinging  to  the  post.  In 
another  moment  all  was  darkness  ;  I  lay  quite  still,  almost  para- 
lyzed by  terror,  as  well  as  physical  causes.  I  knew  from  the 
cautious  noise  I  heard,  however,  that  he  was  gathering  up  the 
instrument  he  had  dropped  (or  its  fragments),  whatever  that 
might  be.  I  drew  thf  bedclothes  softly  over  Jasper's  head,  and 
awaited  the  issue. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVKBIE.          366 

A  few  moments  later  I  heard  the  door  close  ;  his  steps  had  been 
inaudible  as  lie  gained  it.  I  was  afraid  to  believe  that  he  was 
really  gone  ;  and,  after  all,  might  he  not  return  ?  Oh,  God  ! 
those  weary  hours  I 

Day  broke  at  last,  and  showed  me  that  I  was  not  blind,  only 
left  in  darkness  by  the  extinguishing  of  the  taper.  Jasper  awoke  ; 
Bianca  came  ;  I  told  her  everything.  The  carpet  spotted  in  many 
places  by  the  acid  employed  ;  the  discovery  of  some  small  pieces 
of  a  broken  glass  column  ;  a  bit  of  brass  wire,  and  a  moistened 
sponge,  evidenced  the  late  presence  of  a  galvanic  battery  in  the 
chamber.  I  knew  too  well  the  fatal  accompaniments  I  had 
often  watched,  of  old  Mr.  Bouverie's  experiments  with  the  Yoltaic 
pile. 

It  is  probable  that  these  legacies  of  his  visit  were  not  sus- 
pected by  the  author  of  evil,  since  he  had  gathered  together  in 
darkness  all  fragments  within  his  reach,  and  borne  them  away 
when  he  left  the  room  ;  yet  small  as  these  remaining  remnants 
were,  they  brought  to  my  mind  conclusive  proof  of  what  I  should 
have  suspected,  even  had  they  not  been  found,  for  I  had  some  ex- 
perience from  one  electric  experiment  to  which  I  had  been  sub- 
mitted, for  the  sake  of  nervous  headache,  of  the  glare  that  accom- 
panies a  galvanic  shock,  when  applied  near  the  region  of  the 
optical  nerve. 

Later,  I  found  on  a  piece  of  crumpled  paper,  thrown  down  on 
the  laboratory  floor,  and  burnt  at  the  edges,  as  if  the  fire  had 
been  its  original  destination,  which  Bianca  brought  to  me,  some 
memoranda  connected  with  my  malady  and  its  causes. 

The  administration  of  various  drugs,  in  combination  with  the 
galvanic  shocks,  had  done  the  work.  My  dilated  pupils,  which 
aroused  Dr.  Moore's  suspicions  of  amaurosis,  were  the  work  of 


366  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBffi. 

"  belladonna  ;"  my  nervous  prostration,  of  "  digitalis  ;"  mj 
profound  slumbers,  of  "  black  drop,"  and  "  morphine." 

These  were  administered  by  turns  hi  the  draught  Dr.  Moore 
had  ordered.  The  nauseous  taste  of  the  poppy  was  that  which  I 
had  perceived  predominating  last,  and  remembered  as  clinging  to 
my  palate  after  drinking  the  coffee  that  contained  it,  a  flavor  of 
which  I  had  no  experience,  and  this  Mr.  Bouverie  knew,  never 
having  met  with  it  before  in  illness  even. 

My  resolution  was  taken  at  once,  and  communicated  to  Bianca  ; 
I  would  feign  blindness  ;  the  wires  had  been  applied  too  high, 
fortunately,  this  tune,  to  insure  such  a  result,  and  a  mere  dimness 
of  vision,  in  one  eye,  was  the  only  inconvenience  I  experienced  ;  I 
would  remain  in  bed  for  the  present,  but  she  should  sleep  in  my 
chamber  henceforth,  with  Jasper,  and  watch  over  us  both  unfail- 
ingly, until  the  time  came  for  the  European  voyage. 

I  had  already  consented  to  go  ;  I  would  not  withdraw  that  con- 
sent until  the  last  moment  ;  I  would  refuse  all  medicine  as  having 
been  unavailing  before,  and  partake  only  of  such  food  as  she 
should  bring  me.  At  one  time  we  thought  of  adding  bolts  to  the 
door  and  window  ;  but  this  we  felt  could  not  pass  unobserved, 
and  would  only  arouse  suspicion. 

The  means  by  which  Mr.  Bouverie  unlocked  my  door  were 
certainly  very  mysterious ;  the  key  remained  in  the  key-hole,  and 
was  made  to  do  its  own  office,  both  as  he  came  in  and  went  out,  for 
Bianca  found  the  door  locked  in  the  morning  from  within.  I 
noticed  that  the  Venetian  glass,  which  had -contained  the  draught, 
and  which  I  had  replaced  in  the  usual  manner,  on  the  mantel- 
piece, after  emptying  it,  had  been  turned  mouth  downward,  after 
the  habit  of  Mr.  Bouverie — thoughtlessly,  no  doubt,  in  his  excite- 
ment ;  and  this  proved  to  me  how  closely  he  had  examined  its 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          367 

contents  ere  he  proceeded  to  experiment  on  me.  He  had  satisfied 
himself  evidently  that  I  had  drank  the  draught,  before  venturing 
to  approach  my  bed.  Nothing  now  remained  for  us  but  vigilance, 
caution,  cunning,  and  duplicity.  All  very  difficult  to  me,  very 
foreign  from  my  character,  as  they  were,  and  very  repulsive  to 
every  principle  of  my  life.  For  Bianca  these  were  probably  easier. 
She  was  a  diplomatist  by  nature — not  frank,  though  communica- 
tive, and  fond  of  stratagem,  yet  faithful  and  devoted  beyond  any 
one  I  have  ever  known.  Watchful,  too,  and  suspicious  to  an 
excess,  she  was  well  calculated  for  the  post  I  had  assigned  her. 

Let  me  pass  over  that  fearful  interval  of  conflicting  horror  and 
indignation,  when  I  was  obliged  to  submit  to  the  subdued  caresses 
of  a  monster. 

He  came  to  me  as  before,  with  his  slow,  soft  step,  and  silvery 
accents,  sat  by  my  bed,  chafing  my  nerveless  fingers  in  his  own, 
read  to  me  books  whose  words  I  never  listened  to,  hour  after 
hour,  patiently,  unmeaningly.  It  was  easy  to  palliate  this  new 
whim  of  mine,  to  have  Bianca  and  Jasper  in  my  room,  at  night, 
on  the  plea  of  his  own  health,  somewhat  broken,  as  I  insisted  on 
believing  it  to  have  been,  by  his  long  nocturnal  vigils  by  my  side 
during  my  last  attack.  It  was  easy,  too,  to  deceive  him,  as  to 
any  suspicions  I  might  have  entertained,  or  been  supposed  to  en- 
tertain— when  I  shrieked  and  threw  out  my  hands,  so  as  to  upset 
the  battery — by  a  show  of  frankness,  calculated  to  dispel  his  doubts 
on  this  subject,  if  any  such  existed. 

"  I  thought  I  saw  a  glare  in  my  room,  as  of  lightning,  before 
I  sank  into  lethargy,"  I  said,  "  yet  Bianca  says  there  was  no 
thunder-storm  ;  I  must  have  imagined  this." 

"  Your  brain  is  evidently  affected  at  such  times,  Camilla,"  he 
said,  "  you  should  mistrust  all  such  evidences,  as  entirely  unreal. 


368  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF    BOTJVEKIE. 

This  is  one  of  the  symptoms  that  alarms  me  most,  in  your  case." 
I  saw  him  smile. 

I  groaned,  he  mistook  the  origin  of  the  sound,  and  sought  to 
comfort  me. 

"  Yet  do  not  despair,"  he  said,  "  I  still  hope  to  see  you  fully 
restored  to  health,  in  Europe,  where  such  cases  are  better  under- 
stood than  here." 

"Then  do  not  call  in  Dr.  Moore  again,"  I  urged.  "lam 
resolved  to  take  no  more  medicine  until  we  go  abroad." 

"The  form  is  necessary,  however,"  he  replied,  "  to — to — avert 
suspicion." 

"  What  suspicion  ?"  I  asked,  keenly  excited  by  his  strange 
remark  ;  "  to  what  do  you  allude  ?  What  suspicion  could  be 
aroused  in  this  case,  that  you  seek  to  allay  ?" 

"  Only  that  of  neglect,"  he  answered,  indifferently  ;  "  no  other, 
of  course." 

I  came  very  near  betraying  myself  at  that  moment.  I  felt 
disposed,  in  the  agony  of  my  concealed  anger,  to  spring  upon 
him  and  seize  him,  and  accuse  him  of  his  crime.  He,  my  hus- 
band 1 

This  is  what  they  call,  I  believe — such  treatment  as  I  had  re- 
received — pressing  a  wretch  to  the  wall.  In  old  times  they  had 
a  torture — "  une  peine  forte  et  dure  " — that  they  called  the  'tone 
torture. 

Each  day  a  greater  weight  was  added  to  the  stone  (endurable 
at  first),  which  was  placed  on  the  breast  of  a  prostrate  criminal, 
until  at  last  it  crushed  him. 

Such  was  the  mental  punishment  endured  during  these  weeks 
of  suppressed  feeling — of  burdensome  hypocrisy.  The  task  I  had 
undertaken  was  much  more  oppressive  thau  I  supposed  it  would 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  369 

4^. 

be,  and  the  part  I  was  performing  seemed  to  strike  at  last  to  the 
very  root  of  my  nature,  and  destroy  my  sensibility. 

I  am  not  what  I  was.  I  am  cold,  hard,  defiant,  mocking,  skep- 
tical almost.  When  Bishop  Clare  comes  again,  what  shall  I  say 
to  him  ?  How  explain  this  change  ?  How  acknowledge  that  I 
cannot  pray  ? 

I  must  not— I  will  not  reveal  its  cause  ;  and  he  will  accuse  me 
mentally,  if  not  openly,  of  inconsistency,  caprice,  faint-heartedness. 
Yet,  unless  Erastus  so  accuses  me  to  him,  I  shall  not  defend 
myself. 


Dr.  Moore  has  returned  from  Philadelphia  ;  he  brings  me  a 
courteous  messagge  from  Mr.  Bouverie,  who  regretted  that  he  had 
not  time  to  reply  to  my  letter  ! 

What  mockery  !  He  knew  that  no  reply  was  necessary — that 
none  would  be  acceptable — nor  possible  perhaps. 

"  Colonel  Bouverie  desired  me  to  say  that  he  would  write  to 
you  on  reaching  Scotland,"  he  proceeded,  "  and  that  he  hopes 
you  may  still  change  your  mind  and  join  him  there." 

"  Never  1"  I  murmured  low  ;  I  could  not  help  it.  The  blood 
rushed  to  my  brow. 

"You  are  too  excitable,  Camilla,"  Dr.  Moore  observed, 
gravely  ;  "  lend  me  your  pulse.  It  is  nervous  and  irregular  ;  you 
must  be  calm,  or  you  will  have  another  attack  of  blindness,  I 
fear." 

"  I  think  not,"  I  rejoined,  drily.  "  I  shall  probably  have  better 
health  hereafter." 

He  looked  at  me  very  intently  for  awhile,  then  remarked  in 
gentle  tones  : 


370  THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF  BOUVERIE. 

"  I  am  fcorry  you  did  not  go  with  Colonel  Bouverie,  Camilla  ; 
he  seemed  much  disappointed  at  your  failing  to  comply  with  his 
wishes,  and  besides  that,  he  will  be  absent  so  long  that  your  con- 
dition will  be  exceedingly  lonely,  if  not  helpless,  in  this  solitude. 
My  dear,  dear  child  !  you  should  not  have  suffered  any  little 
obstacle  to  make  you  desert  your  post  of  duty." 

The  tears  sprung  to  my  eyes  at  the  implied  rejproach.  They 
were  the  first  that  had  moistened  them  for  weeks. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  me  flinch  from  my  duty,  Doctor  Moore," 
I  said,  "  you  that  have  known  me  long  ?  There  are  things  that 
cannot  be  explained  in  every  woman's  life.  Character  should  have 
some  weight." 

I  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears.  He  seemed  much  shocked,  but 
he  did  not  know  what  good  they  did  me.  With  a  delicacy  that 
did  him  credit,  he  did  not  seek  to  stem  their  torrent  with  useless 
consolation  or  apology.  He  acted  like  a  man  of  purity,  and  truth, 
and  feeling. 

"  Camilla,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  do  believe  by  the  force  of  that 
moral  conviction  that  no  mind  can  resist,  that  you  have  acted  for 
the  best,  and  from  some  concealed  necessity.  If  what  I  partially 
suspect  be  true,  you  have  forborne  as  no  other  woman  would  for- 
bear. My  God  I  how  hideous  !"  he  added,  dropping  his  face  in 
his  hands. 

"  Suspect  nothing,"  I  said,  approaching  him  and  laying  my 
hand  on  his  shoulder,  "  lest  so  suspecting  you  do  a  grievous  jvroug 
to  one  of  us  ;  but  as  you  are  our  friend,  inquire,  surmise  no  fur« 
ther.  The  world  is  at  liberty  to  select  its  own  side  of  the  picture. 
Lips  of  mine  shall  never  make  the  matter  plainer." 

He  rose,  wrung  my  hand,  and  departed  without  a  word. 

Here  the  subject  closed  between  us  forever. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.  371 

MY  LETTER  TO  MR.  BOUVERIE. 
ERASTUS  : 

I  have  been  resolved  since  the  night  of  which  this  brass  wire 
is  a  memorial,  not  to  go  to  Europe  with  you — never  to  live  with 
you  again.  I  have  no  reproaches  to  offer  you  ;  I  believe  you 
have  only  acted  out  your  nature,  like  any  other  serpent. 

When  you  attacked  the  citadel  of  sight,  you  struck  at  some- 
thing dearer  than  life,  or  reason  itself.  Was  it  in  this  way  you 
sought  to  regain  the  affection  you  had  lost ;  or,  did  you  mean 
only  to  enslave  me  ? 

In  either  case,  I  can  forgive  you  on  one  condition,  that  we  never 
meet  again.  My  small  estate  will  suffice  to  support  me  in 
comfort — no  act  of  mine  shall  ever  make  you  blush.  So  put 
aside  all  care  for  me  from  this  moment,  and  believe  in  the 
inflexibility  of  my  resolution. 

That  you  may  still  know  repentance,  and  through  that  means 
true  happiness,  is  the  prayer  of  the — no  longer  blind, 

CAMILLA  BOUVERIE. 


July. 

Sahib  is  dead,  and  Gabriel  has  run  off  !  Two  events  that  have 
more  connection  with  each  other  than  might  appear  on  the 
surface. 

The  devotion  of  this  negro  to  the  fierce  black  horse  was  some- 
thing unparalleled.  He  preferred  sleeping  in  his  stable  to 
occupying  the  comfortable  quarters  assigned  to  him,  and  after 
Sahib  grew  blind,  he  spent  all  of  his  leisure  hours  in  summer-time, 
in  keeping  the  flies  from  annoying  him,  with  a  discarded  peacock 
brush,  once  in  use  about  the  table. 


872          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

He  prepared  also,  with  unfailing  regularity,  the  mess  of  mashed 
oats  and  bran  for  the  toothless  charger,  whose  old  age  was  thus 
made  endurable  to  him  by  his  care.  A  year  ago,  when  on  his 
return  from  Russia,  finding  him  useless,  Mr.  Bouverie  prepared  to 
shoot  Sahib,  Gabriel  threw  himself  before  the  horse,  like  Poca- 
hontas  between  Captain  Smith  and  his  executioner,  and  entreated 
for  his  life. 

It  was  granted,  on  conditions  that  have  been  religiously  fulfilled. 

There  was  no  attachment  existing  between  Gabriel  and  his 
master,  I  knew,  and  yet  Mr.  Bouverie  controlled  him,  as  no  one 
else  could  do,  without  a  blow  or  a  loud  word.  Some  great  fear 
seemed  at  the  bottom  of  this  spaniel-like  obedience  ;  but  what  it 
arose  from  I  could  never  learn.  It  may  have  been  a  sort  of 
magnetism.  It  surprised  me  the  more,  therefore,  that  Gabriel 
had  the  hardihood  and  generosity  to  intercede  so  earnestly  for  the 
life  of  Sahib.  I  did  think,  I  confess,  that  Gabriel  had  a  linger- 
ing, perhaps  an  inherited  attachment  for  me,  and  never  imagined 
buch  a  thing  probable  as  his  flight.  But  after  all,  the  poor 
creature  was  sorely  tempted  possibly,  and  the  mirage  of  the  negro, 
called  freedom,  which  only  means  in  most  cases,  the  permis- 
sion to  steal  and  starve,  lured  him  on.  I  shall  make  no  effort  to 
secure  him.  He  was  unmanageable  at  times,  though  good- 
natured,  and  always  disagreeable  to  Bianca.  As  I  am  situated, 
I  can  dispense  hereafter  with  the  services  of  a  footman. 

Poor  Mr.  Grant,  how  I  miss  him  I  He  was  staunch  as  steel  to 
our  interests,  and  had  a  leal  Scottish  heart  hi  his  bosom,  better 
than  any  other,  I  believe,  when  truly  attached.  I  am  glad  that 
he  left  no  family  to  lament  him.  I  went  to  his  grave  yesterday, 
and  planted  a  double  Scotch  rose  at  the  foot,  that  I  turned  with 
my  own  hands  from  the  crock  in  which  it  had  been  sent  to  me. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  373 

Smith's  wife  has  arrived.  She  certainly  excels  as  a  laundress; 
but  her  appearance  is  unprepossessing.  He,  too,  has  a  face  that 
makes  me  recoil,  yet  he  does  his  work  well — and  understands 
the  culture  of  the  vegetable  garden,  from  which,  hereafter,  I 
must  try  to  derive  some  money.  The  farm-hands  are  to  board  as 
before,  during  harvest  and  seed-time,  in  his  family.  I  hope  I  shall 
be  able  to  get  along  with  these  strangers,  by  keeping  them  at  a 
distance  from  my  household.  But  nobody  can  replace  Mr.  Grant. 


The  long — long  summer-days  wear  away  so  dolefully.  I 
occupy  myself  as  much  as  I  can  with  Jasper,  who  improves  daily, 
and  is  my  sole  consolation  now,  and  with  the  details  of  my  house- 
keeping, which  have  become  a  second  nature,  used  as  I  have  been 
to  the  ordering  of  a  family,  since  my  poor  mother  died — and 
Uncle  Bouverie  put  his  keys  in  my  childish  hand — too  small  to 
grasp  them. 

I  read  too,  and  sew,  and  work  among  my  flowers — and  I  have 
opened  the  long-silent  piano,  and  tried  its  chords  again.  But  the 
spirit  of  music  that  abode  with  me  once  has  gone,  and  the  jang- 
ling keys  seemed  to  mock  me,  with  their  piercing  discord.  The 
instrument  is  one  they  called  a  harpsichord,  I  believe,  and  was  the 
property  of  Aunt  Bouverie,  who  played  well. 

For  her  sake,  I  will  have  it  repaired,  and  keep  it  henceforth  in 
order.  I  am  sorry  that  Jasper  evidences  little  fondness  for  music, 
as  this  might  be  in  his  case  a  wonderful  resource.  Nature 
designed  him,  I  think,  for  a  painter.  His  childish  efforts  to  draw 
are  astonishing.  He  begins  to  read  fluently  now,  and  occupies 
himself,  principally,  with  illustrated  books,  of  which  he  possesses 
&  quantity. 


374  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE. 

He  is  enchanted  with  the  plates  in  Wilson's  new  work  on 
"  Ornithology." 

I  am  alone.  Strive  as  I  may  to  put  them  aside, 'those  mourn- 
ful words  are  ever  ringing  in  the  depths  of  my  nature.  The 
momentary  fierceness  of  my  anger  that  sustained  me  for  a  time 
is  over,  and  I  awake  to  the  full  sense  of  my  desolation. 

Letters  from  Paul  announce  his  speedy  return.  He  is  the  only 
person  in  the  world  that  I  would  be  glad  to  see  just  now,  always 
excepting  Bishop  Clare,  who  cannot  come  until  the  approaching 
month.  Yet  even  with  him  there  may  occur  a  cold  restraint, 
founded  on  the  uncomprehended  past. 

With  Paul  there  can  be  nothing  of  this  kind.  He  will  ask  me 
no  questions.  He  will  suspect  nothing.  My  domestic  habits  and 
my  care  for  Jasper,  will  appear  reason  enough  for  changing  my 
plan  of  European  travel. 

Yet  he  will  not  content  himself  here,  of  course.  He  must  go 
to  a  city  and  begin  his  career  of  physician.  It  is  quite  time  he 
was  taking  some  step  in  life.  What  a  husband  and  father  he 
may  make  some  day  !  What  a  staunch  and  honorable  citizen  ! 

Mr.  Clavering  has  sent  me  his  last  poem  ;  he  is  to  be  married 
in  the  autumn  to  Annie  Blair.  He  will  be  one  of  our  literary 
leaders,  I  think,  if  not  a  political  one.  Her  fortune  and  his  talent 
will  almost  insure  success  when  combined. 

August. 

I  have  had  a  very  long  and  artistic  letter  from  Mr.  Bouvcrie. 
It  is  dated  "  July,  Les  Bocages."  He  is  the  guest  of  his  aunt, 
Madame  Ambrose,  with  whom  he  is  to  remain  until  her  ward  ie 
married. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIB.  375 

I  see  that  the  marriage  will  occur  now  in  a  few  days.  He 
does  not  mention  the  young  lady's  name,  but  says  she  is  to  marry 
young  Edward  de  Courcy,  a  distant  relative  of  hers,  and  the  heir 
to  the  fine  estate  called  "  Taunton  Tower,"  in  the  vicinity  of 
Madame  Ambrose. 

He  speaks  of  her  as  a  very  beautiful  person,  with  one  slight 
personal  drawback,  which  he  does  not  mention,  and  says  that  her 
age  is  just  that  of  our  daughter,  had  she  survived — sixteen  in 
September  last. 

Ah,  that  is  too  young  to  be  married.  Judgment  is  dormant  at 
that  age.  Fancy  rules.  Early  marriages  are  seldom  the  hap- 
piest. Yet  circumstances  may  render  such  a  step  advisable  in 
her  case — the  age  of  her  protector,  her  own  friendless  and 
secluded  position.  Her  fate  reminds  me  of  my  own.  But  why 
should  I  feel  the  slightest  interest  in  this  foreign  girl,  whose  face 
I  shall  never  see  ?  I  cannot  tell.  My  loneliness  perhaps  gives 
my  mind  room  to  act,  on  every  fresh  subject  presented  to  it,  with 
unreasonable  power.  The  thought  of  this  young  bride  is  haunt- 
ing me  with  a  sort  of  fascination. 

Had  we  parted  in  the  fullness  of  conjugal  confidence,  Mr. 
Bouverie's  letter  could  not  have  been  more  tender,  more  affec- 
tionate. He  simply  refers  to  mine,  and  its  allusions,  as  having 
been  hastily  conceived  and  written. 

"  Would  it  not  have  been  more  charitable  in  you,  my  love,  to 
have  attributed  my  midnight  visit  to  your  apartment,  even  had  it 
occurred,  to  my  anxiety  for  your  welfare,  rather  .than  to  any 
wish  to  work  you  harm  ?  Out  of  the  abundant  charity  with 
which  you  clothe  the  whole  world,  could  you  not  have  afforded 
to  your  husband  one  little  mantle?  The  galvanic  battery,  of 
which  the  bit  of  brass  wire  you  sent  me  seemed  suggestive,  'i» 


376  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUTKRIE, 

oftener  used,  I  assure  you,  as  a  remedial  thaa  a  destructive  agent 
In  what  way  have  you,  my  idolized  wife,  arrived  at  the  con- 
clusion that  hand  of  mine  could  be  raised  against  you  in  any 
manner  ? 

"  Dismiss,  I  entreat  you,  my  beloved  Camilla,  such  chimeras 
from  your  brain,  so  often  heated  by  the  rushing  blood,  that  cir- 
culates, I  fear  imperfectly,  in  your  veins,  and  resign  yourself  to 
the  conviction  that  he  who  swore  to  love  and  cherish  you  at  the 
altar,  is  faithful  to  his  vow.  Has  yours  been  kept  as  well? 
Did  you  not  promise  to  '  love,  honor,  and  obey  me  ?'  Of  these 
noble  words,  what  remains  to  you  but  the  empty  semblance  ? 

4 '  Yet  what  I  have  done  to  forfeit  either  your  affection,  your 
reverence,  or  your  loyalty,  what  man  can  tell  ?  Not  I,  surely. 
Nor  you,  Camilla,  if  before  any  tribunal  of  law,  you  were  called 
upon  to  hold  up  your  right  hand  and  testify. 

"  I  shall  continue  to  respect  your  scruples  and  misgivings,  as  I 
have  hitherto  respected  them  ;  yet  I  trust  the  time  may  come, 
when  you  will  extend  to  me,  voluntarily,  the  hand  of  peace  and 
perfect  reconciliation.  You  are  the  only  woman  I  have  ever 
loved — shall  ever  love. 

"  Constituted  by  nature  to  fulfill  the  severest  requisitions  ever 
demanded  of  priest  or  dervish,  I  was  insensible  to  all  the  fascina- 
tion of  the  accomplished  ladies  of  my  own  land,  or  that  of  my 
adoption,  until  I  saw  you  in  your  childish  grace  and  incompara- 
ble beauty.  The  sentiment  I  felt  for  you  was  as  pure  as  ever 
filled  a  brother's  heart,  yet  deep,  and  tender,  and  impassioned 
as  the  love  of  Abelard.  You  were  too  young  to  share  it  when 
we  were  united  ;  this  I  knew,  but  I  hoped  to  teach  you,  ere  long, 
all  the  depth,  fervor,  and  disinterestedness  of  my  own  feelings. 

"  I  failed,  signally  failed     You  were  absorbed  with  trifles,  and 


THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEJRIE.  377 

perhaps  with  dreams  of  a  youthful  and  unworthy  attachment  from 
which  I  had  early  rescued  you.  Little  more  than  ten  years  dif- 
ference existed  in  our  ages,  yet  you  treated  me,  as  if  I  had  been 
too  old  for  you  from  the  first,  and  looked  up  to  me,  or  chose  to 
appear  to  do  so,  as  a  father.  Nay,  more,  you  trembled  before  me, 
you,  whose  affection  was  all  I  desired,  and  so  there  grew  up 
between  us  a  vague  unhappiness  that  ripened  and  bore  bitter 
fruit.  The  climax  came  at  last,  I  need  not  remind  yon  how  or 
when,  yet  no  words  of  mine  could  convey  to  your  mind  a  tithe 
of  my  suffering  under  this  condition  of  affairs. 

"  I  am  not  apt  to  complain  ;  you  never  suspected,  perhaps,  what 
anguish  you  were  making  me  endure  ;  yet  I  will  not  despair.  If 
I  have  failed  in  one  way  to  regain  your  affections,  others  are  still 
open  to  me.  I  will  abide  my  tune,  and  your  generosity." 

I  have  gone  on,  copying  this  letter  unconsciously ;  I  merely 
meant  to  note  down  its  peculiarities.  My  tears  have  fallen,  too, 
in  transcribing  it,  and  blistered  the  pages. 

Oh,  heavens !  what  folly  to  be  moved  by  sophistry  like  this  1 
I  thought  my  heart  was  closed  at  every  avenue  against  his  perfi- 
dious persuasions  ! 

No,  Erastns,  truly  as  I  have  loved  you,  do  love  you  still,  mat- 
ters  are  fixed  and  irrevocable  now  ;  no  hand  of  mine  shall  be 
extended  to  recall  yon,  and  the  moment  of  your  return  to  Bou- 
verie  will  be  the  signal  of  my  departure  from  beneath  its  roof, 
morally,  if  not  legally,  yours  perhaps.  No  day  shall  pass  without 
witnessing  my  prayers  for  you,  mayhap  my  tears  ;  but  a  great  sea 
separates  us  forever  and  ever,  deeper,  wider  than  those  Atlantic 
billows  that  roll  between  us.  Let  them  roll ! 


378  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE. 

August  has  ever  been  an  oppressive  month  to  me,  never  more 
so  than  at  present.  I  was  not  born  under  the  influence  of  the  dog- 
star,  that  is  certain.  I  am  thin,  and  weak,  and  pale,  and  have 
lost  power  to  eat  or  sleep  with  any  regularity. 

Bishop  Clare  is  greatly  concerned  at  my  condition,  I  can  sue, 
yet  he  asks  no  questions.  I  have  volunteered  no  confession  on 
this  occasion.  He  waits  evidently  for  me  to  suggest  such  a  neces- 
sity. Another  tune,  I  hope  to  please  him  better.  I  am  extremely 
nervous,  highstrung  in  all  my  sensations.  I  hear  so  acutely  that 
my  ear  opens  even  to  a  cat's  footsteps.  I  cannot  bear  the  light, 
but  linger  all  day  in  the  shadow.  Jasper  even  makes  more  noise 
than  I  can  well  endure,  and  the  monotonous  insect-sounds  of  mid- 
summer fall  on  my  senses  crushingly. 

The  buzzing  of  the  blue  fly  in  the  window  panes,  the  booming- 
of  the  beetle  as  he  strikes  at  irregular  intervals  against  the 
ceiling,  the  chirping  of  the  locust,  or  the  katydid,  in  the  near 
shrubbery,  and  worse  than  all,  the  croaking  of  the  frogs  from  the 
lake  at  evening,  annoy  and  depress  me,  indescribably,  unreason- 
ably. 

I  said  to  Bishop  Clare  the  other  day,  "  I  believe  I  am  just  in  a 
condition  now  to  be  magnetized  ;  I  never  was  before  ;  every  do- 
minant sound  seems  to  me  a  law  of  my  being  ;  every  ray  of  light 
a  struggle  for  mastery.  I  could  be  governed  very  readily  now  by 
any  energetic  cause." 

"  Ah,  Camilla,"  he  observed,  shaking  his  head,  "  you  are  mis- 
taken, I  have  never  known  a  more  indomitable  nature." 

Even  he  blames  me  for  not  accompanying  Mr.  Bouverie  !  I 
Bee  it  plainly.  Where  is  his  boasted  charity  ?  Perhaps  Paul,  too 
• — but  no  1  he  knows,  he  only,  that  my  life  has  been  a  struggle 
and  a  sacrifice  from  first  to  last. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEBIE.          379 

Dame  McCormiek  grows  worse  ;  she  will  probable  die  ;  she 
has  taken  extreme  unction,  and  made  her  last  confession. 

Bishop  Clare  does  not  hesitate  to  say  that  some  of  her  revelations 
have  shocked  and  astonished  him  greatly.  I  have  never  known  him 
before  to  refer  ever  so  slightly  to  the  confession  of  a  penitent.  I  am 
convinced  there  is  a  struggle  in  his  breast,  on  this  subject,  in  which 
conscientious  scruples  and  religious  fidelity  wage  war — man  and 
priest,  in  other  words.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  her  mysterious 
absence  has  been  accounted  for  at  last,  and  that  it  was  connected 
with  the  perpetration  of  some  hitherto  unacknowledged  crime. 

My  prejudice  against  her  may,  however,  lie  at  the  root  of  this 
suspicion.  I  have  no  wish  to  know  the  truth,  no  curiosity  on  the 
subject,  little  interest  in  her,  in  any  way,  yet  when  she  is  gone 
what  a  burden  the  poor  idiot  will  become  to  me  !  For  the  sake 
of  charity,  though,  I  must  keep  him,  and  care  for  him.  I  grow 
strangely  cold  and  indifferent,  I  fear,  to  every  duty.  These  seem 
merely  mechanical  to  me  now- — I  was  so  zealous  once  in  their 
discharge  !  The  burning  drought  lies  heavily  over  the  land.  The 
evening  sun  has  a  lurid  light.  The  earth  looks  to  me,  as  I  have 
imagined  it  might  do,  when  the  end  of  all  approached.  I  sit  up 
half  the  night  gazing,  gazing  out  upon  the  stars,  without  a  dis- 
tinct idea,  wrapped  in  a  miserable  dream.  I  wish  I  could  feel 
more  acutely,  even  if  I  suffered  more,  and  that  physical  sensibility 
had  not  absorbed  mental  activity. 

Pray  heaven  this  mood  may  pass. 


August  WtU. 

I  know  that  something  strange  and  fearful  has  occurred.  I 
know  that  the  scene  I  witnessed  in  my  sleep  never  took  place  on 
earth  ;  but  is  an  indication  to  me,  of  the  progress  through  which 


THE    HOUSEHOLD    OF   BODVEKIK. 

an  infant's  spirit  passes  after  death — and  of  the  growth,  physical 
and  mental  both,  that  goes  on  even  among  the  angels. 

What  else,  if  not  this,  could  that  strange  vision  mean — so  fear- 
fully distinct,  that  daylight  could  show  me  no  object  more  per- 
ceptible or  certain  than  it  revealed  ? 

And  why,  if  some  accident  has  not  befallen  him,  was  my  hus- 
band mingled  in  this  dream  of  another  world  ?  He  is  dead,  and 
in  spite  of  all  I  have  suffered  at  his  hands,  my  heart  is  broken 
by  this  conviction.  I  never  before  connected  the  idea  of  death 
with  him — so  powerful,  so  efficient,  as  he  seemed — so  imperish- 
able almost — such  a  being  of  steel  and  fire  !  To  see  him  no 
more  !  Oh,  no  1  that  was  not  the  same  thing. 

But,  perhaps,  my  impetuous  fancy  goes  beyond  the  mark. 
Perhaps,  my  own  mind  suggested  a  portion  of  that  dream,  and  so 
supplied  fuel  for  its  own  flame.  Perhaps  he  lives — repents,  may  still 
be  purified,  and  that  peace  and  joy  may  still  be  ours  in  heaven  1 

But  there  is  much  of  this  vision  grounded  on  truth,  that  never 
came  from  within,  and  the  wonderful  gates  of  Paradise — the 
Jasper  gates  have  been  opened  to  me,  a  mortal,  perhaps,  in  my 
slumber,  through  the  mercy  of  the  holy  and  benevolent  Virgin — 
the  friend  of  all  desolate  women. 

Or  has  my  soul  gone  forth  a  lonely  voyager  on  the  waves  of 
space — and  sought  these  scenes,  led  by  a  guardian  angel  ? 

It  is  all  mystery,  yet  nothing  could  surpass  the  reality — the 
novelty,  the  impressiveness  of  this  vision.  I  am  convinced  that  1 
have  seen  my  daughter,  as  she  is  now  in  Paradise,  with  the  strange 
companion,  who  seems  her  guardian  there — and  that  if  my  hus- 
band be  not  dead,  he  too,  has  been  graciously  permitted  to  be- 
hold our  child,  through  the  medium  of  a  vision. 

May  it  prove  the  commencement  of  his  redemption. 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    0.?   BODVERIE.  381 

MY   VISION. 

I  thought  I  saw  a  slender,  beautiful  maiden  dressed  in  white 
robes,  and  covered  from  head  to  foot  in  a  long  fleecy  veil,  so  thin 
that  it  revealed  her  fair  neck  and  arms,  and  the  glistening  pearls 
that  bound  them,  through  its  filmy  folds.  Her  face  was  regular 
and  calm  as  that  of  an  antique  statue,  enlivened  only  by  the  dark, 
brilliant  eyes,  and  clustering  chestnut  curls.  On  her  fair  brow 
and  cheek  burned  crimson  spots,  as  if  the  tips  of  five  bloody 
fingers  had  lightly,  yet  indelibly,  rested  on  them.  And  by  this 
baptismal  sign  I  knew  my  child  ! 

A  young  and  stately  man  stood  beside  her,  supporting  her  it 
seemed,  fair-haired,  blue-eyed,  frank  of  face,  rather  than  handsome. 
His  figure  was  only  partly  visible,  for  it  seemed  in  my  vision  that 
a  cloud  had  parted  to  reveal  a  few  figures  among  a  crowd,  that  it 
otherwise  wholly  enveloped,  seen  as  these  were,  as  through  filmy 
smoke. 

But  distinct  among  all  these  more  distant  shapes — as  if  in 
another  reft  of  the  cloud — I  saw  my  husband.  He  stood  with  his 
arms  folded,  collected,  pale,  serene,  strikingly  handsome  as  he 
always  is,  and  dressed  with  extreme  care  in  his  usual  attire  of 
speckless  black.  Presently,  a  heavy  vapor  gathered  over  the 
whole  scene  and  swallowed  it  from  my  sight,  and  I  awoke.  :,,.^ 

The  figure  of  my  daughter — for  I  cling  to  the  idea  that  this  was 
ehe — was  so  distinct,  that  had  I  been  an  artist,  I  could  have 
painted  her  portrait  from  the  vivid  impression  it  left  behind.  Oh, 
what  a  wondrous  revelation  to  an  earthly  and  heart-stricken 
mother,  is  an  angel  child  I 

What  is  thy  name  in  heaven — oh,  my  child  ?  Whom  callest 
thou  mother,  there  ?  Or,  dost  thou  wait — happy,  and  yet  ex- 


382  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

pectant — for  that  time  to  come,  when  death,  the  solemn  messen- 
ger, that  alone  can  unite  us  now,  shall  bear  to  thee  both  parents 
from  this  dim,  sorrowful  earth  ?  Speak  to  me — let  me  hear  thee 
as  well  as  behold  thee  1 


I  am  possessed  by  this  strange  vision — it  clings  around  me  with 
wonderful  tenacity — and  the  common  incidents  of  life  pass  un- 
noticed since  I  have  dreamed  it.  I  must  have  slept  very  lightly 
while  it  was  passing  through  my  brain,  for  I  heard  the  thunder 
rolling  without  all  the  time,  and  the  rain  pouring  against  the 
panes.  The  first  great  storm  we  have  had  this  month  was  raging 
then.  I  have  told  my  dream  to  Father  Clare.  He  is  very  grave. 
I  have  never  seen  him  so  impressed  from  such  a  cause.  I  have 
related  it  in  simple  words  to  Jasper,  and  his  infant  imagination 
seems  greatly  excited  by  the  relation.  When  he  wants  me  to 
repeat  it  he  touches  his  cheek  and  brow  with  my  fingers.  The 
crimson  spots  appear  to  have  principally  impressed  him — and  the 
story  I  have  told  him  of  my  dead  little  one,  whose  face  was 
marked  thus  on  earth,  that  I  might  know  it  again  in  heaven,  seems 
to  strike  some  chord  of  feeling.  Tears  roll  down  his  face  as  I 
relate  the  solemn  vision. 


October,  • 


Since  Paul's  return  I  have  sorely  neglected  my  journal.  I  find 
that  the  last  entry  was  made  nearly  three  weeks  ago  ;  a  little 
after  the  period  of  Annie  Blair's  death.  Poor  Clavering  is  still 
perfectly  crushed,  and  yet  no  blame  can  possibly  attach  to  him. 
He  was  rescued  while  insensible,  by  the  boatman,  who  could  not 
save  both  ;  and  from  his  personal  attachment  to  Ernest,  preferred 


THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUTEEIE.  383 

losing  his  hold  on  Annie  Blair.  Paul  has  gone  to  him  to-day  for 
the  first  time.  He  has  not  been  willing  to  receive  even  him  until 
now,  and  has  lain  in  darkness  like  one  despairing.  Mrs.  Blair's 
condition  is  little  less  pitiable,  and  far  more  hopless.  Annie  was 
her  only  daughter.  She  can  never  recover  from  her  loss  ;  but 
Clavering  is  young,  and  at  twenty-one  a  man  readily  throws  off 
trouble. 

Quintil  brought  me  a  letter,  or  rather  a  package  of  letters,  from 
Mr.  Bouverie,  with  whom  he  met  in  Paris.  Nothing  could  be 
more  brilliant  or  amusing  than  his  account  of  his  stay  in  the 
French  capital  ;  but  what  interested  me  most  of  all,  was  the 
mystery  contained  in  these  few  lines  : 

"  I  have  a  revelation  to  make  to  you  which  will,  I  think,  atone 
for  all  past  offences  (if  such  indeed  exist)  on  my  part  against  you. 
I  will  defer  this,  however,  until  you  recall  me,  by  your  own 
gracious  act.  Let  not  my  sentence  of  exile  extend  beyond  the 
spring." 

I  understand  very  plainly  what  this  means.  Mr.  Bouverie 
intends  to  return  in  the  spring,  whether  I  wish  it  or  not  ;  but  has 
tact  enough  to  make  it  appear  that  his  return  is  dependent  on  my 
will.  He  little  knows  how  deeply  he  has  struck  at  the  root  of 
our  happiness  if  he  supposes  that  any  act  of  mine  can  ever  sum- 
mon him  to  my  side  again.  As  to  his  revelation,  the  more  I  con- 
sider it  the  more  I  am  convinced  that  it  involves  some  pecuniary 
advancement  ;  and  fortune  is  a  matter  about  which  he  is  deeply 
solicitous.  He  ought  to  know  me  better  by  this  tune  than  to 
suppose  that  an  addition  of  this  kind  could  make  the  slightest 
difference  in  my  estimation  of,  or  inclination  toward  him. 

Nor  am  I  one  of  those  birds  who  sing  better  for  being  blinded  ! 
Oh,  God  !  how  terrible  that  mer.ory  is  ! 


384:  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

There  came  a  blind  man,  and  sat  on  our  steps  yesterday,  guided 
by  a  little  dog.  He  asked  for  bread  and  milk.  I  insisted  on 
feeding  him  myself,  and  while  I  did  so,  tears  rolled  over  my  cheeks. 
A  year  ago  there  would  have  been  no  such  vivid  sympathy  between 
us  ;  but  now  that  I  know  from  experience  what  everlasting  night 
must  be,  my  pity  amounts  almost  to  agony  ! 

He  was  an  old  man,  with  a  snow-white  head,  and  had  been 
blind  for  twenty  years.  Philosophers  talk  of  the  equality  of  the 
human  lot.  What  flummery  ! 

Quintil  is  the  quaintest  fellow  in  the  world.  He  was  so 
charmed  with  the  Savoyards  in  the  streets  of  Paris,  that  he  bought 
Jasper  a  hurdy-gurdy  and  a  marmot ;  and  for  fear  the  latter 
would  lose  his  accomplishment,  learned  to  grind  the  little  instru- 
ment himself,  and  gravely  gave  a  daily  performance  of  street  min- 
strelsy, and  marmot  activity  on  the  cabin  table  of  the  ship,  as  he 
came  over  in  the  "  Formosa." 

"  How  people  must  have  laughed  at  you,  Quintil,"  I  said. 

"  To  be  sure  they  did.  That  was  what  I  wished  them  to  do. 
Would  you  have  had  them  frown  or  weep  on  such  occasions  ?" 

"  No  ;  but  it  was  too  absurd  !  You,  a  man  of  gravity,  beyond 
your  years  even  ;  a  'scientific  man,  too  !  What  a  caprice  1" 

"  I  conceive  the  highest  condition  of  human  felicity  to  exist  in 
the  shape  of  a  Savoyard,  and  I  wanted  to  see  if  I  could  not  receive 
and  communicate  a  little  happiness  by  acquiring  and  practising  his 
profession.  I  think  I  succeeded,  and  "  Little  Madam  "  (it  has 
been  long  since  I  heard  that  familiar  title)  I  want  you  to  make 
Jasper  a  costume  such  as  I  shall  direct,  and  let  me  make  a  Savoy- 
ard of  him  sometimes,  just  to  gladden  my  eyes,  and  his  own 
heart." 

"  Certainly,  Paul,"  I  said,  laughing  ;  "  anything  to  amuse  you, 


THE   HOUSEHOLD    OF   BOUVEKTE.  385 

3'  course  ;  but  I  confess  that  I  never  enjoyed  travesty  of  any 
sort." 

"  Travesty  !  There  never  was  anything  half  so  earnest  as  this 
profession,  I  do  assure  you.  No,  nor  half  so  joyous  either  1" 

So  I  have  dressed  Jasper  occasionally  in  a  little  slouched  hat 
.  and  doublet  ;  and  with  his  hurdy-gurdy  and  marmot,  he  plays 
Savoyard  to  his  own  and  his  uncle's  great  delight.  How  true 
blood  asserts  itself  !  There  is  a  positive  devotion  between  these 
tsvo — children,  I  was  about  to  say — already. 


Paul  has  brought  me  a  box  of  superb  laces,  selected  by  a  lady 
to  whom  Dr.  Luther  is  attentive  in  Paris,  and  very  expensive,  I 
have  no  doubt.  I  will  lay  them  aside  for  his  wife,  if  such  a  being 
exists,  or  for  Jasper's,  if,  indeed,  his  muteness  shut  him  not  out 
from  such  sweet  companionship  forever.  I  can  never  wear  them, 
certainly  ;  when  a  woman  feels  as  I  do,  a  simple  black  dress,  with 
the  plainest  accessories  of  the  toilet,  suits  her  best.  What  is 
better,  he  has  brought  me  some  fine  French  works  to  read,  and 
the  "  Tales  of  the  Crusaders,"  the  last  novel  by  the  author  of 
Waverley,  now  well  understood  to  be  Walter  Scott  the  poet. 

A  fine  edition  of  Byron's  poems,  published  since  his  death, 
crowns  the  climax  of  his  thoughtful  generosity.  Much  as  I  detest 
the  character  of  the  man,  I  cannot  help  admiring  his  works.  His 
are  the  only  poems  I  ever  read  with  interest  or  enthusiasm,  or 
even  patience. 

How  much  preferable  virtue  is,  after  all,  to  any  genius,  however 
transcendent.  Compare,  who  can,  who  dare,  the  brilliant  Napo- 
leon to  our  majestic  Washington  ! 


386  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEEIE. 

December. 

The  last  mail  brought  me  a  letter  from  Mr.  Bouverie,  dated 
St.  Petersburg.  He  is  domesticated  at  the  palace.  It  is  evi- 
dent he  stands  high  in  favor  with  the  Czar,  who  has  conferred  on 
him  the  appointment  of  chief  engineer  of  his  great  diamond  mine 
hi  the  Ural  Mountains.  Nor  is  this  only  because  of  Mr.  Bouve- 
rie's  proficiency  hi  the  science  of  engineering  it  seems,  for  which 
his  quick  eye,  and  indomitable  boldness,  as  well  as  the  accuracy 
of  his  perceptions,  seem  to  have  fitted  him  by  nature.  There  is 
another  bond  of  interest  between  them  in  connection  with  these 
mines.  The  emperor's  avarice  is  dazzled  by  the  wonderful 
knowledge  of  gems  that  Mr.  Bouverie  displays,  and  by  some 
chemical  experiments  he  has  performed  before  him,  in  which  he 
has  succeeded,  or  appeared  to  succeed,  in  merging  many  smaller 
diamonds  into  one  immense  stone. 

It  was  in  consequence  of  his  satisfaction  with  these  experiments 
that  the  emperor  presented  Mr.  Bouverie  with  the  finest  mag- 
netic diamond  in  the  world,  which  he  calls,  from  the  peculiarity  of 
its  cutting,  the  "  gnome  eye,"  and  even  placed  it  on  his  finger  with 
his  own  royal  hand. 

"  Figurt'Z  vous,  as  the  French  say,"  writes  Mr.  Bouverie,  "  a 
ring  large  enough  for  General  Washington  himself,  hanging  like 
a  manacle  from  one  of  my  slender  fingers  !  I  shall  never  have  it 
altered,  however,  or  trust  it  long  enough  from  my  presence  for 
such  a  purpose.  I  manage,  by  fixing  it  over  a  wad  of  cotton,  to 
wear  it  on  state  occasions,  and  as  gloves  are  not  '  cle  rigueur ' 
in  St.  Petersburg,  make  quite  a  display  whenever  I  raise  my 
hand. 

"  I  find  myself  at  home,  at  this  half  savage  court —  barbaric 
in  spite  of  its  splendor  and  seeming  refinement.  The  presence  of 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE.  3S7 

that  great  power,  that  breathing  fate,  Nicholas  the  First,  im 
presses  me  as  the  sight  of  no  other  sovereign  has  ever  done,  or 
could  have  done  except  Napoleon  (our  dead  Prometheus),  or 
Jenghis  Khan,  perhaps,  had  I  lived  in  his  day. 

"  I  have  a  turn  for  oriental  magnificence  and  Tartar  sway. 
Nicholas  and  his  wife  are  well  bred  people  for  savages.  Fabius, 
my  aunt's  old  Polish  steward,  accompanied  me  from  England  as 
body  servant.  I  think  I  forgot  to  mention  the  death  of  madam 
Ambrose.  This  faithful  retainer  has  always  been  fond  of  me  from 
boyhood,  and  having  a  taste  for  diplomacy,  is  greatly  impressed 
by  the  distinguished  attentions  so  lavishly  pressed  upon  my  ac- 
ceptancy.  He  was  a  soldier  in  his  youth,  and  retains  all  his 
fondness  for  military  pomp,  and  all  the  stiffness  of  military  train- 
ing. He  reveres  my  gnome-eye  ring,  as  a  signet  of  state,  and 
watches  over  all  of  my  personal  effects  with  the  vigilance  of  a 
dragon.  This  is  very  necessary  here,  I  assure  you,  for  the  Spar- 
tan virtue  abounds  in  St.  Petersburg,  and  concealment  sancti- 
fies theft,  even  among  gentlemen,  as  the  half  civilized  Boyars 
have  the  presumption  to  call  themselves.  I  wish  you  could  go 
with  me  to  see  the  review  to-day  in  the  great  square  of  St. 
Isaacs  1" 


So  flows  the  letter  through  many  pages.  It  is  signed  "  Erasing 
Bouverioscovitch,  a  Prince  of  the  Diamond  Mines  ;"  a  sorry  jest,  I 
think,  at  such  a  time  ! 

What  does  he  think  I  care  for  all  these  Russian  triumphs,  or 
how,  indeed,  can  he  expect  to  sustain  them,  founded  as  they  are 
chiefly,  I  fear,  on  mere  charlatanism  ? 


388  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOTTVEEIF. 

Our  Christmas  was  a  peaceful,  if  not  a  merry  one.  Paul  and 
Jasper  and  I  sat  down  alone  to  our  turkey  and  pudding.  Later, 
the  drawing-room  door  was  opened,  to  show  the  beautiful  Christ- 
mas-tree that  Quintil  had  arrayed  for  Jasper,  with  toys,  and 
tiny  wax  candles.  This  is  something  quite  new  to  us,  imitated 
from  that  he  saw  in  Germany.  The  servants  came  in  to  gaze, 
and  with  them  the  little  idiot,  so  frightful  still  with  his  bowed 
shoulders,  red  shaggy  hair,  and  wild,  watery  blue  eyes.  But,  true 
to  the  fellowship  all  little  children  feel  for  each  other,  Jasper 
led  him  around  to  admire  the  tree,  which  did  indeed  seem  to 
awake  a  sort  of  delight  in  his  imperfect  nature,  that  Dame 
McCormick  says  she  never  observed  in  him  before,  from  any  cause. 
My  beautiful  boy,  with  his  angelic  face,  and  clustering  curls,  and 
little  belted  tunic  of  black  velvet,  dressed  like  an  earl's  son,  made 
a  strange  contrast  to  the  poor  misshapen  creature,  whose  claw- 
like  hand  he  held  in  his,  and  afterward  filled  with  bons-bons  from 
the  tree,  quite  unbidden. 

Paul  goes  to-morrow  to  Baltimore,  where  he  has  decided  to  fix 
himself  as  physician — I  cannot  help  thinking,  with  some  regard 
to  its  adjacent  position  to  Bouverie.  He  has  not  said  this, 
however. 

The  winter  is  closing  in  with  unusual  rigor.  I  decline  all  com- 
pany, and  yet  feel  anything  but  self-sufficient.  The  remainder  of 
the  season  lies  before  me  like  a  barren  waste — even  as  the  snow- 
covered  landscape  now  lies  before  my  eyes — outspread  to  the 
horizon  on  one  side,  and  bounded  on  the  other  by  the  spectral, 
moaning  forest. 

How  shall  I  pass  this  dreary  time  away  ?  I  shall  weary  of 
everything  ;  books,  work,  baby-boy  himself.  Bishop  Clare  will 
comeback  in  spring,  and  I  shall  again  have  an  unsatisfactory  account 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.          389 

to  offer  of  time  wasted — feeling  grown  morbid,  duties  half  ful- 
filled !     Alas,  alas  ! 
And  this  is  what  they  call  life  ! 


March. 

Jasper  brought  me  the  first  blue  periwinkle  flower  to-day  ! 
It  cheers  me,  almost  as  the  returning  dove  did  the  eyes  of  Noah, 
with  its  olive  branch  !  Never  was  spring  so  slow,  so  reluctant 
to  come  to  us  before — never  have  I  felt  so  crushed  by  the  reign 
of  winter. 

I  was  made  for  social  intercourse,  for  family  affection  ;  I  was 
net  intended  for  solitude  and  reflection.  These  things,  which 
some  great  minds  enjoy,  resolve  themselves  into  desolation  in  my 
case.  The  wild  March  winds  are  sobbing  around  the  house  while 
I  write  ;  but  I  have  hope  now,  for  spring  is  awake  again  ! 

Yet,  what  can  spring  bring  to  me,  beyond  her  tender  green — 
her  flowers — her  balmy  airs  ?  Will  she  bring  my  happiness — will 
she  bring  my  husband  ? 

Yes,  the  cold  effigies  of  these,  perhaps — but  the  reality  is  with 
the  past ;  I  cannot  deny  to  myself,  strive  as  I  will,  that  I  am 
very  miserable.  Perhaps  it  would  be  better  for  me  to  meekly 
bow  down  to  the  necessities  of  my  case,  and  contend  no  longer. 
To  receive  Erastus  with  outstretched  arms,  and  throw  myself' 
wholly  on  his  generosity.  To  suffer  him  to  blind  me — to  crush 
aie  if  he  will — rather  than  live  any  longer  this  cold,  hollow,  love- 
ess  life. 

I  have  overrated  my  own  strength,  my  own  inflexibility.  T 
nust  see  him  once  again,  before  I  die. 

My  anxiety  about  him  ie  becoming  insupportable. 


390  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE. 

April. 

Letters  from  Mr  Bouverie  arrived  to-day,  after  an  interval  of 
three  months.  It  is  true,  I  have  replied  to  neither  of  those  he  baa 
already  written  me.  I  shall  not  reply  to  these  ;  yet  he  will 
come. 

He  wrote  in  the  beginning  of  March — he  was  then  on  the  eve 
of  setting  out  for  the  mines  ;  after  visiting  these,  he  will  journey 
to  Odessa,  where  he  has  business  with  Mr.  Sprague,  the  consul, 
an  old  friend — and  then  take  ship  for  the  United  States,  to 
return  again  in  autumn  to  St.  Petersburg  with  his  family,  and 
t  stablish  himself  there  for  some  years. 

Dr.  Quintilian  will  accompany  him,  probably,  on  his  homeward 
voyage,  or  join  him  at  Bouverie,  in  August,  when  Jasper  will  be 
relinquished  to  his  hands.  He  hopes  these  arrangements  will 
prove  satisfactory. 

Thus  does  my  husband  lay  down  the  law  to  me. 

The  hand  of  steel  is  there  in  the  velvet  glove,  yet  its  power  is 
irresistible. 

One  of  these  letters,  for  there  are  several  in  the  same  package, 
overflows  with  the  most  exquisite  tenderness  for  me. 

Am  I  so  weak  that  these  expressions  have  power  to  thrill  me 
still ;  or,  is  memory  a  cheat  and  a  counterfeit  ?  Why  did  he  not 
permit  me  to  love  him  in  my  own  way  ?  "Why  did  he  exact  the 
high  poetic  sentiment  that  har1  no  place  in  my  nature,  as  the 
proof  of  my  deep  affection  ?  Was  any  one  ever  more  true, 
more  tender  than  I  have  been  to  him — more  submissive  ?  What 
was  the  use  of  all  that  jealous  cruelty  and  suspicion  of  shadows, 
that  warped  him  from  the  right,  and  broke  my  heart  ? 

Yet  he  complaius.  that  I  have  always  feared  him — have  shrunk 
from  him  unconsciously  for  years  !  How  could  it  be  otherwise  ? 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKEE.  391 

This  much  I  know,  I  shall  never  fear  him  again.  I  am  callous 
now,  not  courageous,  yet  crushed,  humiliated  by  my  sorrow  and 
desolation,  to  absolute  serfdom. 

Hereafter,  I  shall  be  as  dumb  as  Jasper,  blind  too,  if  he  wills  it 
so — docile  as  a  dog  ! 

What  is  the  use  of  shrinking  away  from  any  post  God  has  as- 
signed to  us  ?  The  holy  martyrs  sang  their  hymns  of  praise, 
amid  curling  flames,  and  died  rejoicing  mid  their  agony. 

Let  me  keep  before  my  eyes  such  sacred  examples.  When  I 
glance  over  all  I  have  written  since  last  spring,  I  can  but  smile  at 
much  of  it.  How  surely — how  entirely  the  snares  of  our  fate 
close  around  us  in  spite  of  our  fiercest  endeavors  ! 

I  have  been  tamed  by  this  solitude,  and  the  reticence  of  my 
own  nature,  that  forbids  me  to  impart  to  any  one  my  suffering. 
Bishop  Clare  will  come  to-morrow,  and  he  will  find  me  in  a  better 
mood,  I  hope,  than  he  has  done  before  for  a  twelvemonth  past. 
He  will  be  glad  to  hear,  too,  I  know,  that  Mr.  Bouverie  is  ex- 
pected soon. 


A  letter  from  Dr.  Quintilian  accompanies  a  package  he  has  sent 
me  from  Brussels,  containing  a  superb  lace  dress — the  "pendant" 
— a  note  from  the  manufacturer  (likewise  inclosed)  assures  him  of 
one  made  for  the  Queen  of  Belgium  herself.  Curiously  enough, 
over  the  elaborate  black  tracery  of  the  pattern,  small  golden 
eheaves  of  wheat  are  exquisitely  embroidered,  as  if  strewn  lightly 
over  the  surface  of  the  lace  by  some  careless,  prodigal  hand.  The 
effect  is  magical. 

I  do  not  know  whether  to  accept  or  refuse  this  present.  Were 
I  to  follow  the  dictates  of  my  feelings  I  should  certainly  do  the 


392  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BODTEKIK. 

last.  Yet,  perhaps  this  would  be  indelicate  under  the  circum- 
stances of  Jasper's  long  abode  with  me.  I  cannot  bear  the  idea, 
however,  of  receiving  any  acknowledgment  save  the  gracious  one 
of  friendship,  for  any  cares  I  may  have  rendered  to  him. 

It  was  for  my  own  gratification,  more  even  than  his  own  benefit, 
I  craved  the  infant ;  and  how  fatal  this  adoption  has  been  to  his 
welfare,  is  evident  to  all  the  world.  Dr.  Quintilian  can  never 
know  the  truth  with  regard  to  his  misfortune,  and  under  false 
impressions  how  can  I  bear  to  accept  his  gift  of  gratitude  ? 

I  will  lay  the  dress  aside  and  determine  later  about  it  Luther 
makes  no  mention  of  having  heard  from,  or  of  Mr.  Bouverie.  I 
am  disappointed  at  this  (probable)  oversight  on  his  part. 


The  summer  wears  away  in  vain  expectation,  conjecture  and 
despondency.  We  have  no  advices  from  Mr.  Bouverie  later  than 
March.  He  may,  however,  have  concluded,  owing  to  my  silence, 
not  to  write  again,  and  may  come  suddenly  upon  us  at  any  time. 
This  is  a  pleasant  and  prosperous  season  for  the  voyager.  I  offer 
daily  prayers  for  his  safety,  wherever  he  may  be.  I  thought 
Bishop  Clare  looked  grave  when  he  was  here  last  week.  His 
duties  press  upon  him  heavily,  I  know. 

Dame  McCormick  seems  to  have  grown  younger  since  her 
sickness.  She  is  twice  as  efficient  as  she  was  before.  Smith  has 
made  a  great  deal  of  money  from  his  strawberry  and  asparagus 
beds,  now  just  beginning  to  yield  abundantly. 

He  brought  me  quite  a  pile  of  Spanish  dollars  last  quarter-day, 
as  the  result  of  his  spring  sales,  besides  paying  himself  hand- 
somely. Paul  caught  a  glimpse  of  Gabriel  not  long  ago,  very 
much  dressed  in  the  streets  of  Philadelphia.  He  gave  Quintil  the 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVEBIE. 

A 

cut  direct  when  accosted  by  him,  with  a  cool  "  I  don't  know  yon, 
Bah  !» 

I  can  imagine  the  scene  ;  it  was  exquisite  !  Paul  was  so  con- 
founded, he  let  him  pass,  but  in  another  moment  was  dashing  after 
him  full  speed.  He  is  confident  he  saw  him  disappear  down  a 
cellar  door,  vanishing  like  a  rat  into  his  hole  ;  his  sharp  coat-tail 
flitting  last  out  of  sight.  I  am  very  glad  the  pursuit  ended — just  so  1 


Auyust. 

Ships  come  and  go,  still  no  news  from  Mr.  Bouverie.  The 
conviction  lies  cold  at  my  heart  that  I  shall  never  see  him  again. 
That  vision  was  not  given  for  nothing  ;  I  feared  so  then,  I  feel  it 
now.  Paul  lingers  at  Bouverie,  though  his  destination  hi  this 
month  was  the  northern  lakes.  He  is  restless  though.  He  sees 
and  shares  my  anxiety.  I  cannot  trust  myself  to  agitate  the  sub- 
ject at  all  of  my  husband's  safety. 

The  other  day,  on  entering  the  breakfast-room,  I  saw  Paul 
reading  a  letter  marked  with  a  foreign  post  stamp.  He  has  his 
own  correspondents  abroad,  of  course.  I  did  cot  question  him  ; 
but  there  was  something  suspicious  in  the  way  he  crumpled  up 
the  letter  and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket,  out  of  my  sight,  and  in 
his  gloomy  silence  afterward,  and  strange  pallor. 

Still,  had  there  been  any  news  of  my  husband,  I  am  sure  he 
would  have  communicated  it  to  me — his  wife — to  her  who  has  the 
best  right  of  all  the  world  to  know  !  I  think,  too,  had  the  lettei 
been  from  Luther  he  would  have  spoken  of  it.  Am  I  curious  ?  I 
have  always  despised  this  vice  ;  it  possesses  me  now  !  But  why 
confound  curiosity  with  interest  that  amounts  to  agony  almost  ? 

Oh,  Bouverie  1  return  and  I  will  forgive  you  all  1  I  can  write 
no  more. 


394  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

[A  letter  from  Mr.  Sprague  is  laid  loosely  in  the  volume,  at  thit 
place,  the  narrative  of  which  is  not  resumed  for  the  space  of  one 
year.  It  is  dated  Odessa,  September,  and  refers  to  a  former  one 
written  in  July,  to  Dr.  Quintilian,  when  rumor  was  afloat.  It  is 
addressed  to  "  Madam  Bouverie,  Washington." 

It  conveyed  the  fearful  intelligence  that  Mr.  Bouverie  had  been 
waylaid  and  assassinated  on  his  way  to  Odessa,  where  he  had 
intended  taking  ship  for  the  United  States,  having  written  to  Mr. 
Sprague  to  that  effect,  and  forwarded  part  of  his  effects,  for 
transportation. 

Some  difficulty  had  occurred,  it  was  known  to  this  gentleman, 
between  Mr.  Bouverie  and  the  Czar,  in  connection  with  the  open- 
ing of  a  new  mine  in  the  Ural  Mountains,  which  had  determined 
the  former  to  relinquish  his  contract  with  the  emperor,  and 
return  permanently  to  America. 

An  imperial  ukase  had  gone  out,  offering  a  reward  for  his  mur- 
derer ;  but  those  who  knew  Nicholas  best,  understood  this  politic 
movement,  and  considered  Mr.  Bouverie  a  victim. 

His  body  was  never  found. 

It  need  not  be  said  that,  in  spite  of  all  that  had  occurred  to 
alienate  her  feelings,  Camilla  Bouverie  was  overwhelmed  by  this 
intelligence.  Other  revelations,  scarcely  less  crushing  and  astound- 
ing to  her  feelings,  followed  fast  on  this  announcement  of  her  hus- 
band's fate. 

Mr.  Bouverie's  will  had  not  been  found.  It  was  produced 
later.  He  had  the  right  to  leave  his  estate  as  he  pleased  ;  the 
entail  ended  with  him  ;  but  as  he  died  intestate,  it  was  thrown 
into  chancery  for  the  benefit  of  his  heirs.  The  property  did  not 
long  remain  unclaimed.  Edward  de  Courcy  demanded  it  for  his 
child,  whose  mother,  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Bouverie,  had  died  soou 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBIE.  395 

after  its  birth,  and  the  estate  was  decreed  to  him  in  trust  for 
Lilian. 

Then  first  did  Camilla  Bouverie  know  that  her  child  had  lived 
to  woman's  estate,  and  known  the  holy  names  of  wife  and  mother, 
that  the  ward  of  Madame  Ambrose,  and  her  daughter,  had  been 
the  same  !  After  this  intelligence  reached  her,  Bishop  Clare 
compelled  Dame  McCormick  to  testify  to  her  part  in  the  transac- 
tion, before  a  magistrate,  so  as  to  convince  Mr.  de  Courcy  of  the 
justice  of  the  claims  advanced  by  Mrs.  Bouverie,  as  well  as  to 
satisfy  the  mind  of  the  mistress  on  this  point. 

She  stated  that  at  the  time  of  her  disappearance  from  Bouverie 
she  had  conveyed  the  infant  daughter  of  her  employer  to  the 
care  of  Madame  Ambrose.  This  fact  was  known  to  the  woman, 
still  living  in  Scotland,  who  had  nursed  the  infant,  maternally, 
from  the  time  they  left  Baltimore,  until  it  grew  past  the  age  of 
early  childhood,  under  the  impression,  as  was  Madame  Ambrose, 
that  it  was  motherless,  or  abandoned  by  its  mother,  they  knew 
not  which.  Mr.  Bouverie's  manner  in  later  years  seems,  however, 
to  have  given  rise  to  the  latter  impression,  and  to  have  estab- 
lished a  deep  and  abiding  prejudice  in  the  minds  of  his  relatives 
against  the  mother  of  Morna  Bouverie,  when  it  was  known  at  last 
that  such  a  person  still  existed.  Something  of  this  has  already 
been  alluded  to,  and  accounts  for  Col.  de  Courcy's  conduct. 

Whether  in  inviting  his  wife  to  accompany  him  to  witness  the 
nuptials  of  his  child,  he  intended  to  avow  everything  and  exone- 
rate her  from  all  blame,  or  whether  he  trusted  to  melodramatic 
effect,  to  satisfy  scruples  and  close  bleeding  wounds,  cannot  be 
known  with  any  certainty  now.  The  revelation  he  alluded  to  in 
his  letter,  as  the  charity  that  was  to  cover  Ids  multitude  of  sins, 

was  certainly  that  of  Morna's  existence. 
83 


396          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

Dame  McCormick  declared  that  it  was  because  the  young 
mother  shrieked  and  swooned  at  the  sight  of  the  bloody  spots, 
that  he  decided  on  removing  the  child.  "  They  will  rise  up  against 
me  like  an  ever-present  judgment,"  she  heard  him  say.  Bianca 
knew  that  he  walked  his  study  floor  the  whole  night  before  he 
sent  the  baby  away,  and  always  suspected  that  they  buried  an 
empty  coffin.  But  they  had  the  sagacity  to  send  her  to  Croften, 
on  an  errand,  that  pair  of  accomplices  on  this  black  occasion,  and 
when  she  came  back  Mr.  Bouverie  told  her  the  child  was  dead, 
and  ready  for  sepulture.  The  coffin  was  already  closed  up.  Mrs. 
Bouverie  was  lying  in  deep  lethargy,  and  Dame  McCormick  had 
disappeared. 

Bianca  had  always  feared  that  the  baby  had  been  murdered  by 
Dame  McCormick,  yet  not  one  word  of  this,  nor  of  the  reality 
of  the  bloody  glove,  had  ever  transpired  until  now.  Such  was  the 
awe  with  which  Mr.  Bouverie  inspired  his  dependents,  even  those 
who  hated  him.  In  proportion  as  these  horrors  pressed  upon 
ner  attention,  the  poignant  sorrow  of  Mrs.  Bouverie,  for  her 
husband's  fate,  naturally  abated. 

Fresh  fuel  came  to  feed  the  old  fire  of  wrong  and  injury,  and 
when  she  found  herself  repelled  by  Edward  de  Courcy  haughtily, 
contemptuously,  almost  from  all  claim  upon  his  child,  something 
like  indignation  asserted  itself  again,  against  her  husband's  me- 
mory. She  had  besought  her  son-in-law  to  bring  the  infant  to  see 
her  ;  he  refused  to  do  so  in  terms  that  left  her  no  longer  in  doubt 
as  to  the  opinion  he  had  received  of  her  acts  and  character. 

She  did  not  remonstrate,  nor  attempt  the  slightest  vindication 
of  her  life.  She  did  not  claim,  as  her  friends  told  her  she  could 
do,  a  portion  of  her  husband's  estate  from  her  grandchild.  Later, 
when  the  will  came  to  light,  she  exacted  all  in  accordance  with 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIK. 

its  provisions,  and  again  suffered  her  motives  to  be  misconstrued 
rather  than  explain  a  truth  that  must  have  been  fatal  to  the  con- 
cealed master  of  Bouverie. 

Had  it  not  been  for  his  secret  presence  in  her  house,  she  would 
not  have  turned  on  her  heel  for  the  income  of  his  English  funded 
property.  We  have  seen  how  this  was  applied,  and  to  what  uses. 
As  it  was,  the  cry  deepened  against  her  in  Scotland,  and  Lilian's 
relatives  determined  that  the  child  should  never  know  even  of 
her  existence.  It  has  been  shown  how  this  resolution  was  car- 
ried out,  and  how  wonderfully,  at  the  last,  Providence  shaped  the 
rough  hewn  ends  of  man's  intention. 

In  the  meantime,  how  had  it  really  fared  with  Bouverie  ?  Seized 
and  shut  up  with  his  attendant  and  crucibles,  and  materials  for  work, 
in  a  Russian  prison,  he  was  commanded  to  exert  his  art  for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  Czar,  and  offered  his  freedom  as  the  price  of  his  success. 

Three  times  the  despot  visited  him  in  that  lonely  fortress  on  the 
Caspian  Sea,  and  three  times  left  him  disappointed  and  exaspe- 
rated, yet  believing  more  and  more  firmly  each  tune,  in  the  power 
of  his  prisoner  to  execute  his  will. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  fourth  year  of  his  imprisonment, 
Erastus  Bouverie  was  unexpectedly  released.  The  officer  who 
came  to  announce  to  him  his  freedom,  required  simply  that  he 
should  sign  the  paper  he  laid  before  him,  as  the  price  of  his 
liberty.  It  contained  an  acknowledgment  merely  on  the  part  of 
the  prisoner,  that  the  immurement  had  been  voluntary,  to  which 
he  had  been  subjected,  and  submitted  to  for  scientific  purposes 
alone.  A  purse  of  gold  was  laid  beside  the  document.  This  was 
no  time  for  hesitation,  Erastus  Bouverie  signed  the  paper  and 
took  the  gold,  though  cursing  the  necessity  that  made  him  do 
either,  in  his  heart.  In  three  hours  more  he  was  journeying  in  a 


398  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

close  vehicle  with  Fabins,  followed  by  a  wagon  containing  his 
effects,  on  the  road  to  Odessa. 

The  long,  rude  journey  was  accomplished  at  last,  and  what  was 
Mr.  Sprague's  astonishment  to  see  standing  before  him  the  wreck 
of  the  man  he  had  believed  to  have  been  murdered  four  years 
before  !  Few  explanations  were  given  ;  Mr.  Bouverie's  great 
anxiety  to  reach  his  home,  was  met  by  exertions  on  the  part  of 
his  friend,  to  obtain  for  him  as  speedy  and  direct  a  passage  as 
possible  to  an  American  port. 

He  sailed  in  September,  and  reached  New  York  in  little  more 
than  a  month  afterward.  He  there  heard  the  news  of  his  wife's 
approaching  marriage  to  Dr.  Quintilian.  This  was  proved  on 
the  trial  by  the  gentleman  who  had  communicated  the  fact  to 
him,  in  answer  to  his  apparently  careless  inquiry,  unconscious  of 
his  identity — and  he  remained  "  perdu  "  a  month  longer,  waiting 
for  the  very  day  to  arrive,  fixed  for  the  wedding. 

The  knowledge  of  this  circumstance  destroyed  all  hope  of 
mercy  from  the  jury — all  sympathy  for  his  condition  in  the  public 
mind,  and  he  was  condemned  to  die  by  Judge  Wardlaw,  in  the 
December  of  the  same  year. 

The  circumstances  of  the  case  as  related  by  the  papers  of  the 
day  were  simply  these  : 

"  Camilla  Bouverie  and  Luther  Quintilian  were  united,  at 
the  residence  of  the  former,  by  the  Right  Reverend  Bishop  Clare, 
on  the  twentieth  of  November,  18 — ,  in  the  presence  of  a  few 
friends. 

"After  partaking  of  a  collation,  the  guests  separated  at  the  hour 
of  seven  in  the  evening,  taking  advantage  of  an  early  moonlight 
to  reach  their  respective  homes  before  it  became  dark.  Bishop 
Clare  alone  remained  at  Bouverie. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE.          399 

"They  had  scarcely  reached  the  gate  of  entrance,  when  piercing 
shrieks  recalled  them  to  the  scene  of  late  festivity.  They  returned 
to  find  Dr.  Luther  Quintilian  a  corpse,  weltering  in  blood,  in  the 
arms  of  his  bride,  and  to  behold  Erastus  Bouverie  standing  grimly 
over  him.  He  had  entered  the  drawing-room  as  the  sound  of  the 
departing  carriages  reached  his  ear,  from  his  place  of  conceal- 
ment, and  discharged  his  pistol  with  unerring  fidelity  through  the 
heart  of  Dr.  Quintilian. 

"Bishop  Clare  was  standing  on  the  portico  when  this  occurred, 
and  came,  like  the  rest,  too  late  to  interpose.  Dr.  Paul  Quin- 
tilian had  left  Bouverie  with  the  cavalcade  of  horsemen  that 
escorted  the  carriages,  intending  to  return  before  midnight.  His 
absence  at  the  moment  was  most  unfortunate.  Mr.  Bouverie  has, 
of  course,  been  placed  under  strict  arrest. 

"Able  counsel  has  been  retained  for  him. 


We  have  seen  how  he  died,  or  seemed  to  die,  by  flis  own  hand 
a  few  days  before  that  fixed  for  his  execution,  and  how,  for  the 
sake  of  the  love  they  bore  him  hi  the  past — men  of  hitherto 
unspotted  honor,  Dr.  Moore  and  Bishop  Clare,  lent  themselves 
zealously  to  the  stratagem. 

The  report  that  had  gone  out,  to  the  effect  that  the  mind  of 
Camilla  Bouverie  had  been  seriously  affected  by  her  troubles,  had 
favored  the  scheme  of  concealment  that  seemed  so  hopeless  at  first 
— and  accounted  satisfactorily  for  the  residence  of  Dr.  Paul  Quin- 
tilian  at  Bouverie. 

It  was  hi  vain  that  his  friends  conjured  Erastus  Bouverie  to 
return  to  Europe — and  that  his  injured  wife  refused  for  a  long 
time  to  lend  him  her  countenance. 


400  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

He  persisted  in  remaining  where  he  was,  and  yielding  to  hia 
determination,  yet  unwilling  to  trust  to  his  discretion,  so  often 
baffled  by  his  temerity,  conditions  were  sternly  affixed  to  his  stay 
under  his  own  roof,  by  Dr.  Paul  Quintilian  and  his  wife — of 
which  we  have  witnessed  both  the  success  and  the  failure. 

The  great  stairway  was  removed — the  upper  floor  sealed  away 
from  the  lower — and  limits  assigned  to  his  freedom,  almost  as 
stringent  as  those  of  a  prison.  Then,  too,  commenced  that  quiet 
work  of  ministry  and  self-sacrifice,  and  practical  Christianity  that 
shadowed  while  it  ennobled  the  whole  "  household  of  Bouverie." 

A  few  more  extracts  from  the  diary  of  Camilla  Bouverie  aiid 
the  story  closes.  The  end  of  the  third  year  of  her  widowhood 
has  now  arrived.  Dr.  Quintilian  had  returned  to  reside  in  the 
United  States  a  twelvemonth  before.] 

September. 

I  can  no  longer  disguise  from  myself  what  Dr.  Quintilian's 
attentions  mean,  nor  the  interest  he  has  awakened  in  my  heart. 
I  thought  for  a  long  tune  he  was  engaged  to  that  Parisian  lady, 
and  was  so  absorbed  with  my  own  wretchedness  that  I  accepted 
his  ministry  as  a  mere  matter  of  course,  due  to  my  affliction. 

The  words  he  spoke  to-day,  of  which,  however,  I  took  no  seem- 
ing notice,  were  unmistakable.  He  means  to  address  me,  and  I 
shall  marry  him.  In  the  silent  communion  of  the  night,  and  my 
own  heart,  I  utter  these  words  firmly  and  fearlessly.  On  your 
bosom,  my  faithful  friend,  my  only  confidant,  dear  insensible  diary, 
I  inscribe  my  intention.  Keep  it  sacredly,  as  you  have  done  all  the 
rest  that  I  have  given  to  your  keeping,  until  the  time  comes  when 
the  fire  shall  consume  your  pages,  for  under  this  new  order  of 
things  I  shall  not  transmit  you  beyond  Mie  grave. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE.  401 

Yes,  Luther  ;  noble,  true  and  well-beloved,  I  will  take  thy 
guiding  hand  and  walk  with  thee  through  life,  and  with  Paul  and 
Jasper,  both  of  thy  honored  blood,  and  dear  to  me  as  blood  of 
my  own  could  make  them,  we  will  form  a  happy  and  united  house- 
hold  at  last.  No  more  dark  jealousy  and  mystery,  no  haunting 
dread  of  nameless  horror  and  secret  crime  shall  begird  my  ex- 
istence, and  lie  like  a  brooding  shadow  over  my  hearth. 

Luther  Quintilian  is  a  man  for  daylight  and  practical  affection, 
and  truth  and  virtue  are  sealed  on  his  superb  and  manly  brow. 
I  will  put  the  past  hehind  me  like  an  ill  dream,  and  though  the 
freshness  of  my  life  is  gone  away  forever,  with  youth  and  its 
accompaniments,  I  shall  not  despair  of  making  much  of  the  rem- 
nant yet. 

Yet,  oh  Erastus  1  this  was  not  the  measured  love  I  gave  to 
thee,  husband  of  my  youth  !  Thou  that  I  worshipped  once  as  the 
Persian  worships  the  sun,  blindly,  unreasonably  !  Thou,  whose 
unexpected  footstep  made  my  soul  thrill  with  joy,  and  whose 
encircling  arms  contained  the  universe  to  me,  happy  and  secure  aa 
I  felt  in  their  tenderness,  their  protection  1 

Such  feelings  come  no  more,  and  it  is  better  so,  perhaps.  Bet- 
ter the  calm,  confiding  love  of  later  days  ;  better  permanence 
than  impulse  ;  better — Oh,  sophistry,  let  me  delude  myself  no 
longer ! 

Such  love  is  but  imperfect  substitution,  at  best,  for  all  that 
went  before. 

Yet  I  am  serenely  happy. 

October. 

Last  evening,  about  sunset,  Jasper  came  running  to  me  all 
eagerness,  and  grasping  my  hand,  drew  me  from  my  seat,  out  on 


402  THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEEIE. 

the  lawn,  and  then  onward  toward  the  stables.  The  child  was  so 
agitated  that  I  was  convinced  something  unusual  had  occurred. 
When  we  neared  the  stile,  I  saw  that  a  colored  man  was  sitting 
on  the  lowest  step,  very  ragged,  apparently  old,  with  a  torn  hat, 
whose  limp  and  battered  brim  drooped  around  his  face,  so  as  to 
conceal  the  upper  portion  entirely  from  view.  The  beggar — 
for  such  I  supposed  him  to  be — did  not  change  his  position  until  I 
stood  quite  close  beside  him,  when  suddenly  raising  his  thin  hand 
he  drew  off  his  hat — literally  as  one  would  remove  a  glove — and 
disclosed  the  changed,  but  still  recognizable  face  of  Gabriel. 

I  uttered  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  he  was  so  woefully  altered  ; 
his  hair,  in  which  he  took  such  unaccountable  pride,  and  which 
he  had  trimmed  always  in  a  sort  of  jay-bird  crest,  clung  thin  and 
knotty  now,  quite  flat  to  his  head  ;  and  his  once  sable  skin,  so 
sleek  and  shining,  was  changed  to  a  dingy  copper-color.     His 
clothing,  too,  was  wretchedly  worn  and  old  ;  he  that  had  been 
idolatrously  fond  of  his  attire  !     It  was  the  most  lamentable  meta- 
morphosis I  ever  beheld. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  Miss  Camilla  ?"  he  said,  at  last,  in  tremu- 
lous tones. 

II  Certainly,"  I  said,  "  Gabriel,"  clasping  the  poor  hand,  which 
he  half  extended,  then  drew  back  in  a  deprecating  way.     "  Poor 
fellow!  you  must  have  been  ill  ?" 

"  Sick  all  summer,  Miss  Camilla,  down  in  a  dark  cellar  in  dat 
dreadful  big  city,  whar  ebery  black  man  has  to  fight  for  his-self. 
Sick  and  neglected  ;  no  vittals,  no  physic,  no  light,  no  air,  no  one 
to  care  for  me,  no  doctor  to  come  and  go.  Oh,  my  mistress,  my 
heart  done  broke  long  ago;  I  has  just  crawled  home  to  die." 

The  tears  were  rolling  down  Jasper's  face,  and  he  was  patting 
Gabriel — whom  he  evidently  remembered — affectionately  on  the 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOTJVEKIE.  403 

she  alder  ;  I  felt  a  little  choking  sensation  myself,  and  for  a 
moment  I  could  not  speak. 

"  Do  not  sit  there  any  longer,  Gabriel,"  I  said,  "  go  to  the 
kitchen  fire,  have  your  supper,  and  go  to  bed  hi  your  own  room. 
To-morrow  I  hope  you  will  be  better." 

The  poor  wretch  burst  into  a  convulsive  flood  of  tears.  I 
thought  it  best  to  leave  him  ;  but  turning,  saw  Jasper  leading  him 
tenderly  to  the  kitchen.  He  walked  with  a  cane,  and  seemed 
very  feeble. 

I  sent  for  Dr.  Moore  this  morning,  who  pronounces  him  far 
gone  in  what  is  called,  "Negro  consumption,"  a  very  rapid  and 
painful  decline,  I  believe.  It  supervened,  it  seems,  on  an  attack 
of  neglected  intermittent  fever. 


January. 

Poor  Gabriel  continues  so  ill,  and  the  white  servants  dislike 
so  to  attend  to  him,  that  he  occupies  much  of  my  time.  I  have 
appointed  Pat  McCormick  his  page.  The  creature  mends  his 
fire,  gives  him  to  drink,  and  pats  him  to  sleep,  accompanying  the 
motion  of  his  hands  with  a  dull,  unmeaning,  buzzing  sound,  that 
Gabriel  finds  infinitely  soothing. 

"  It  minds  me,  Miss  Camilla,"  he  said,  "  of  dem  'greeable  sum- 
mer flies  I  neber  shall  hear  no  more  ;  dem  big  blue  bottles  I  used 
to  keep  away  from  Sahib's  legs." 

What  a  pleasing  association  of  ideas  !  He  has  a  wish  to 
hear  the  Bible  read,  in  which  I  think  it  my  duty  to  indulge  him. 
I  cannot  believe,  however,  he  comprehends  much  of  the  deeper 
meaning  of  my  words.  He  seems  particularly  struck  by  the 
miracle  of  the  loaves  and  fishes. 

"  What  a  great  'ting  dat  would  be,"  he  said,  "  for  de  niggers 


4:04  THE  HOUSEHOLD   OF  BODVEREE. 

;n  Philadelphia,  if  the  Lord  would  only  repeat  de  'speriment  in 
deir  favor  1" 

"  Gabriel,"  I  observed,  gravely,  "  if  you  interrupt  me  again 
with  such  remarks,  I  shall  have  to  give  up  reading  to  you.  It  is 
sinful  to  make  such  comments." 

"  Go  on  den,  Miss  'Milla,"  for  to  this  abbreviation,  so  long 
familiar  to  him,  he  has  returned  at  last.  "  I  won't  say  nothing 
more  ;  but  tell  me  first  is  there  any  place  in  Scripture,  where  it 
speaks  of  de  punishment  hereafter,  for  de  nigger  what  runs  away  ?" 

"  No  Gabriel,  none  that  I  know  of ;  but  I  believe  the  punish- 
ment of  such  offenders  is  generally  found  in  this  life." 

"  Dat's  de  trufe,  Miss  'Milla,"  he  said,  turning  away.  "  Well 
I'm  mighty  glad  anyhow,  dat  the  debbil  does  not  meddle  he'self 
wid  dis  business.  I  has  more  hope  now — Satan  too  meddlesome 
anyhow,  wid  colored  folks  'fairs  !"  so  saying  he  composed  himself 
to  sleep. 

March. 

To-day  I  promised  Dr.  Quintilian,  if  he  would  wait  until 
autumn,  to  marry  him  then.  He  thinks  the  delay  unreasonable,  I 
can  see  ;  but  is  too  gentlemanly  to  say  so.  I  can  assign  no  rea- 
son for  delaying  our  marriage  until  that  season,  that  would  satisfy 
him  ;  but  the  truth  is,  I  want  to  pass  through  a  severer  ordeal  of 
self-examination,  and  devotion  to  my  religious  duties,  than  my 
depressed  and  anxious  condition  has  permitted  me  to  undertake 
in  the  last  three  years. 

!No  one  but  a  Catholic  could  understand  this  feeling,  exactly, 
and  as  I  have  determined  that  our  religious  opinions  shall  never 
clash,  I  will  not  propose  this  necessity  as  a  theme  for  argument 
between  us  now. 

Oh,  how  I  wish  our  dear  Jasper  could  grow  up  a  Catholic  ! 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  405 

His  muteness  consecrates  him  doubly  in  my  eyes  to  the  service  of 
his  maker  ;  yet  he  can  never,  by  words,  show  forth  his  praise. 
I  do  not  think,  however,  this  defect  would  disqualify  him  for  the 
Catholic  priesthood. 

Bishop  Clare  conies  to-morrow  to  remain  some  weeks.  Poor 
Gabriel  is  half  crazy  to  see  him,  and  receive  his  blessing  before 
he  dies. 

Gabriel  has  received  a  strange  conviction  in  some  way  that  his 
master  is  not  dead.  Although  I  know  this  is  a  mere  delusion  of 
a  failing  mind,  I  cannot  help  being  deeply  impressed  by  it.  Alas, 
there  can  be  no  longer  a  doubt  of  Mr.  Bouverie's  death.  His 
fiery  spirit  found  its  master  in  the  cruel,  icy-hearted  Czar,  and  his 
bones  whiten,  perhaps,  on  one  of  those  great  steppes — the  deserts 
of  the  north. 

Oh  God,  how  terrible  to  me  is  this  reflection  !  Why  do  wo 
treasure  so  the  poor  frail  remnant  of  humanity  ?  why  hold  the 
unbreathing  dust  so  dear  of  those  we  loved  ? 

Alas  !  alas  I  this  mysterious  end  was  but  a  consistent  close  of 
that  dark  and  turbulent,  and  inscrutable  life  of  his.  He  rests 
now,  wherever  his  bones  may  be,  in  the  hands  of  his  merciful 
Maker,  he  wLo  never  knew  rest  before.  The  lights  have  never 
been  suffered  to  go  out,  on  the  shrine  of  St.  Stephen's,  since  he 
died,  that  burn  for  his  repose,  and  a  daily  mass  is  chanted  there 
for  the  sake  of  his  erring  soul.  My  own  prayers  have  been  added, 
nightly,  to  those  of  our  holy  minister,  and  I  trust  these  supplica- 
tions to  God  and  Christ,  through  the  intermediation  of  saints  and 
the  blessed  Virgin,  have  not  been  made  in  vain. 

Oh,  blessed  privilege  of  our  holy  religion,  prayer  for  the  dead  ! 
How  wretched  should  I  be  but  for  this  expiating  power  of  grace' 


4:06          THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVEKIE. 

Gabriel  dreamed  that  his  master  stood  before  him,  and  said 
in  stern  accents  : 

"  Gabriel — why  did  you  let  Sahib  die  in  my  absence  ?  Did  you 
forget  to  wash  out  his  mouth  with  blood  as  I  bade  you  ?" 

He  then  awoke — this  was  the  whole  vision — but  he  was 
covered  with  cold  sweat  from  its  effects — it  was  so  real, 
he  says,  that  he  believes  his  master  is  not  dead,  and  that  he  will 
return. 

I  am  annoyed  at  the  creature's  willful  perversity  on  this  occa- 
sion— and  at  the  ghastly  glimpse  he  gives  of  the  means  by  which 
it  is  barely  possible  Sahib  was  made  so  fierce  and  unmanageable. 
But  this  may  be  merely  imaginary. 


May. 

Paul  seems  gloomy  and  discontented — I  know  not  why  this 
should  be.  I  begin  to  suspect  some  secret  attachment,  and  have 
communicated  my  suspicions  to  Luther.  He  laughs  at  the  idea, 
and  declares  that  Paul,  like  his  prototype,  is  indifferent  to  the 
sex  ;  but  he  cannot  enter  fully  into  the  confidence  of  his  reserved 
and  greatly  younger  brother. 

I  wish  Paul  would  confide  in  me.  He  is  sure  of  my  sympathy, 
at  least;  or,  if  he  will  not  do  this,  I  wish  he  would  try  and  throw 
off  his  gloom,  just  now,  if  only  for  my  sake.  I  need  all  the 
encouragement  and  strength  that  friends  can  give  me.  I  am 
quite  faint-hearted  at  times,  yet  never  irresolute.  I  am  more  and 
more  confident  each  day,  that  I  shall  be  perfectly  happy,  if  such 
a  state  of  mind  is  permitted  on  earth,  with  that  noble  gentleman, 
Luther  Quintilian. 

Bishop  Clare  approves  entirely  of  my  new  connection,  f  nd 
admires  Dr.  Quintilian,  not  only  for  his  attainments,  but  for  his 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVERIE.  407 

1 

eweet  and  unaffected  disposition,  the  most  open  and  sunny,  that  it 
has  ever  been  my  lot  to  know. 

Yet  Jasper,  strangely  enough,  evinces  a  decided  preference  for 
Paul,  over  his  own  father.  There  seems  to  be  indeed  a  love 
"passing  the  love  of  woman,"  between  these  two — deep,  and 
almost  impassioned.  This  is  the  more  singular,  as  Jasper  has  an 
instinctive  love  for  the  beautiful,  which  would  naturally  attract 
him  to  his  extremely  handsome  father. 


I  am  unwise,  perhaps,  to  suffer  my  feelings  to  carry  me  away, 
as  they  are  doing,  more  and  more  powerfully  each  day.  But  I 
see  so  much  to  admire  and  appreciate,  that  my  affections  are 
becoming  deeply  engaged.  A  flood  of  sunshine  seems  to  have 
been  let  in  over  my  darkened  life,  and  the  energies  that  have  lain 
dormant  so  long,  wake  op,  and  expand  then*  wings.  I  am 
aroused  from  desolation,  and  I  bless  the  hand  that  has  achieved 
tins  triumph.  I  bless  thee,  Luther  ! 

But  let  me  not  forget,  in  this  feeling  of  elation,  the  humility  of 
my  past  condition.  Let  me  not  forget  how  heavily  the  chasten- 
ing band  has  been  laid  on  me,  and  that,  less  than  four  years  ago, 
the  terrible  fate  of  Mr.  Bouverie  began  a  catalogue  of  troubles — 
not  yet  entirely  closed,  for  I  cannot  repress  the  yearning  wish  I 
feel,  never  to  be  gratified,  perhaps,  to  clasp  my  daughter's  child. 

Oh,  Erastus  !  of  all  your  acts — but  no,  I  will  not  reproach  the 
dead.  Let  me  forbear,  as  I  have  forborne,  so  far,  since  the  cold 
arms  of  death  received  thee — and  the  demon  of  the  north 
ensnared  thee  in  his  toils.  Still  it  was  hard  to  bear  contempt 
from  those  who  knew  nothing  of  my  life — who  must  have  judged 
me  merely  from  one  act  of  crying  injustice  in  another 


4:08  THE    HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEKIE. 

"If  not  fit  to  rear  my  own  child,  certainly  not  fit  to  take  charge 
of  his." 

Those  were  Mr.  de  Courcy's  sentiments,  expressed  in  haughty, 
disdainful  words,  that  have  never  ceased  to  rankle  in  my 
heart. 

My  daughter's  existence  and  death  are  but  dreams  to  me — far 
less  distinct  than  the  vision  that  brought  her  so  clearly  before 
me  on  her  marriage  night,  an  instance  of  clairvoyance,  I  doubt 
not  now.  Yet,  the  disappointment  of  her  fate,  and  the  repulse  I 
received  with  regard  to  her  infant,  came  very  near  destroying  me 
— connected  as  these  were,  with  the  consciousness  of  cruel  treat- 
ment from  the  hands  of  him  I  had  so  sincerely  lamented. 

The  whole  thing  was  crushing,  and  but  for  the  ministry  of  Paul 

and  Luther,  I  think  I  must  have  died. 

tf 

What  patience — what  forbearance — what  devotion  they  mani- 
fested toward  me — and  how  grateful  I  ought  to  be  to  both  ! 
Surely,  whatever  care  I  had  bestowed  on  Paul  and  Jasper,  was 
returned  fourfold,  by  such  tender,  unremitting  attentions. 

All  this  time  I  never  suspected  Luther's  sentiments  for  me,  yet 
he  says  they  existed  from  the  first  moment  of  his  return,  perhaps 
long  before,  unconsciously. 

It  was  months  before  I  could  respond  to  them  sufficiently  to 
give  him  room  to  speak  them  to  my  ear,  and  even  after  we  were 
partially  engaged,  I  felt  that  I  was  scarcely  doing  him  justice,  by 
matching  such  a  broken  spirit  as  mine  with  his  fresh  and  buoy- 
ant nature. 

This  objection  is  fully  removed  now.  I  feel  that  I  have  risen 
to  his  level  again — he  has  rescued  me  as  a  strong  swimmer 
reaches  out  his  hand  to  sustain  a  feeble  one — and  I  can  stand 
before  the  altar  with  him  when  the  time  arrives,  with  every  con- 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF  BOUVERIE.  40& 

fidence  in  my  power  to  carry  out  those  holy  words,  "  Lcve,  honor, 
and  obey  ?" 

Yet,  this  is  a  strange  promise  we  are  called  upon  to  make, 
after  all,  for  which  of  these  things  can  we  be  sure  of  doing, 
except  the  last  ? 

Our  sentiments  are  involuntary.  We  cannot  love  and  honor 
whom  we  will.  Some  desert  in  the  object  is  implied  in  such  ful- 
fillment of  one  vow — and  as  to  obedience,  which  alone  remains  to 
us  possible  sometimes — is  it  not  a  matter  of  doubt  as  to  whether 
this  ought  not  to  be  indissolubly  connected  with  the  two  first  ? 

Are  we  doing  right  to  obey  those  whom  we  neither  love,  nor 
honor  ? 

A  question  for  Bishop  Clare  I 


Poor  Gabriel  is  dead.  On  this  lovely  June  morning  he 
breathed  his  last,  supported  by  Paul,  who  had  been  sitting  up 
with  him  all  night,  and  bending  his  last  grateful  looks  upon  my 
face. 

It  is  evening  now,  and  all  the  negroes  in  the  neighborhood  have 
poured  in  to  witness  his  burial.  I  hear  the  high-pitched,  mono- 
tonous voice  of  the  negro-preacher  from  where  I  sit,  pouring  forth 
his  exhortations  over  the  dead.  The  prayers  and  groanings  have 
not  yet  begun. 

He  was  arrayed  in  death  as  it  would  have  rejoiced  his  heart  to 
have  been  once  more  in  life.  Paul  gave  a  half-worn  suit  of  black 
broadcloth  for  his  burial  garb.  I  knotted,  myself,  around  his  poor 
meagre  neck,  the  black  silk-tie  he  knew  how  to  wear  so  jauntily. 
Bianca  added  a  white  pocket-handkerchief  for  his  nerveless 
hand  ! 


4:10  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF    BOUVER1E. 

The  amber  rosary  that  Aunt  Furness  valued  so  highly  was  laid 
beside  him  in  his  coffin,  by  his  particular  request,  yet  he  had 
strayed  from  the  true  faith  long  ago — and  connected  himself  witn 
the  Methodists.  The  negro  confidence  in  the  "Fetish-power" 
communicated,  however,  a  sort  of  superstitious  charm  to  these 
beads,  perhaps;  or  it  may  be,  that  affection  for  his  mother  sur- 
vived every  other  sentiment. 

In  the  strange  fantastic  delirium  of  the  few  last  nights,  he 
imagined  himself  waiting  on  one  of  our  grand  Washington  din- 
ner-parties again. 

It  was  affecting  to  see  the  poor  skeleton  hands  lifted  during 
the  momentary  strength  of  fever,  as  if  to  offer  Barmecidal  dishes 
to  phantom  guests. 

He  thought  at  one  time  he  had  brought  the  wrong  wine,  and 
that  his  master  was  angry  with  him.  He  seemed  to  quail  as  I 
have  often  seen  him  do  before  his  terrible  glance. 

Paul  declared  it  was  almost  equal  to  the  celebrated  "  Tote- 
d'arme'e,"  of  Napoleon's  last  night  on  earth. 

Alas  ! — this  bed  of  death  all  men  have  to  lie  upon  is  the  great 
leveller  after  all — and  possesses  its  own  mysterious  impressiveness, 
whether  of  king  or  slave. 

I  am  glad  dear  Luther  was  not  here — Gabriel's  frequent  men- 
tion of  Mr.  Bouverie  has  unnerved  me  so — and  must  have  been 
peculiarly  embarrassing  to  him. 

Besides,  death  throws  such  an  awful  shadow  over  every  house 
in  which  it  occurs  ! 

Jasper  is  greatly  impressed  by  the  funeral  rites,  Bianca  says, 
and  sits  up  by  Pat  McCormick,  as  grave  as  a  judge. 

The  mind  of  this  creature  seems  to  be  becoming  a  little  human- 
ized, and  his  attentions  to  Gabriel  were  really  wonderfully  faithful 


THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUYEJBIE.  411 

The  odious  old  dame  is,  of  course,  a  fixture  for  life.  Bishop 
Clare  begs  me  to  bear  with  her  presence  if  possible  ;  but  I  cannot 
help  very  unchristian  feelings  toward  her  at  times. 

I  shall  try,  however,  to  control  these,  and  to  be  kind  to  her 
declining  age  for  the  sake  of  him  that  is  gone. 


Paul  thinks  that  Gabriel's  frame  and  constitution  would  have 
sustained  him  to  extreme  old  age,  had  he  not  committed  his 
ridiculous  escapade.  He  had  some  money  in  the  beginning, 
which  he  squandered  in  dissipation  ;  ran  riot  in  every  way,  feS  Dut 
of  employment,  became  ill,  and  missing  the  attention  thai  had 
always  been  bestowed  on  him,  hopelessly  despondent. 

So  the  poor  misguided  fellow  had  himself  to  blame  for  aS  ifcat 
occurred  to  him.  Does  it  not  seem  evident  that  God  intendsd  the 
white  man  to  protect  and  govern  the  negro  ?  And  as  to  the 
equality  of  races,  how  absurd  is  the  theory !  Look  at  the  woolly 
hair,  the  greasy  skin,  the  facial  angle,  the  crooked  shins,  and  talk 
of  equality  if  one  can  !  God  sets  no  mark  in  vain. 


Ifontmler 

As  the  time  for  my  marriage  approaches  I  am  conscious  of 
unreasonable,  I  hope  not  ominous  depression.  I  have  been  review- 
ing my  whole  past  life,  and  it  seems  to  me  that  I  am  presumptuous 
in  daring  to  expect  happiness  after  having  been  made,  so  peculiarly 
a  mark  for  suifering. 

Paul,  too,  appears  gloomy  and  dispirited  again.  Could  I  have 
wounded  him  ?  I  am  not  conscious  of  neglecting  him  in  anyway. 
Yet  he  said  something  the  other  day  of  being  "  de  trop,"  a&d 
spoke  of  going  back  to  Baltimore. 


412  THE   HOUSEHOLD   OF   BOUVEBEE. 

I  hare  been  comparing  my  two  wooings,  almost  with  a  sad 
smile.  The  first — simple  as  that  of  Samson  when  he  saw  among 
the  Philistines  a  woman  that  " pleased  him,"  and  so  "took  her 
for  his  wife," — seemed  patriarchal  in  its  very  character  and  causes. 

Could  any  man  thus  woo  me  now  ?  How  innocent,  how  con- 
fiding is  youth  !  How  soon  the  bloom  is  brushed  from  the  plum, 
to  return  no  more  to  its  polished  surface  !  How  perfectly  I 
trusted  thee,  Bouverie.  How  little  I  suspected  thy  depths  of 
guile  ! 

Yet,  to  what  other  man  was  ever  granted  the  same  nameless 
power  to  attract,  to  govern,  to  persuade,  to  fascinate  ?  I  am 
glad  Luther  is  not  like  you,  Erastus,  and  that  I  may  be  permitted 
to  see  him  as  he  is.  My  husband  will  be  no  charlatan  this  tune, 
but  open,  true,  and  fearless  as  the  day.  This  character  suits  me 
best ! 

Jasper,  who  understands  everything  at  last,  is  wild  with  delight. 
He  knows  he  is  to  be  mine  irrevocably  now.  The  wife  of  his 
father  will  be  his  true  mother  for  life  ;  nothing  can  divide  us. 


later. 

I  am  tremulously  happy,  yet  depressed.  To-morrow  I  change 
my  name  and  the  channel  of  my  fate.  Luther  perceives  my  emo- 
tion ;  I  can  only  lean  my  head  on  his  arm  and  weep,  when  he 
inquires  what  causes  my  dejection.  He  comforts  me  with  such 
true,  manly  tenderness,  and  inquires  no  further.  He  is  all  I  could 
desire  ;  I  love  him  devotedly.  I  know  he  is  truly,  tenderly 
attached  to  me,  and  yet  out  of  the  depths  of  the  unexpiated  past 
such  memories  arise  ! 

Last  night  I  started   suddenly  from  sleep,  trembling,  faint, 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUYERIE.  413 

bathed  in  cold  perspiration.  For  a  time  I  was  almost  sure  Eras- 
tus  had  been  there,  so  vivid  was  my  vision,  so  distinctly  did  I  see 
his  pale,  locked  features,  his  glittering  eye,  his  terrible  frown  ; 
but  his  sweeping  black  hair  was  mixed  with  grey,  and  ids  form 
strangely  wasted.  He  seemed,  too,  to  wear  a  beard  that  fell  to 
his  breast,  whiter  even  than  his  hair. 

Was  it  indeed  a  dream,  or  did  he  stand  before  me  in  ghostly 
presence,  seeking,  perhaps,  for  the  grave  that  has  never  been 
accorded  to  him,  and  claiming  it  at  my  hands  ? 

Oh,  merciful  Father,  give  repose,  I  entreat  thee,  to  this  restless 
and  angry  spirit,  and  permit  not  my  happiness  to  be  again  dis- 
turbed by  such  spectral  visions. 

All  things  are  possible  to  thee  ! 


THB  RWD. 


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The  Lost  Beauty.     By  a  Noted  Lady  of  the  Spanish  Court 1  "io 

Rome  and  the  Papacy.  A  History  of  the  Men,  Manners  and  Tempo- 
ral Government  of  Rome  in  the  Nineteenth  Century 1  75 

Above  books  are  each  in  cloth,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

Ij^f  Above  Books  will  be  sent,  postage  paid,  on  Receipt  of  Retail  Price, 
by  T.  B.  Peterson  &  Brothers,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 


T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.    5 

WORKS  BY  THE  VERY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

The  following  books  arc    each    issued    in    one   large   duodecimo  volume, 
bound  in  cloth,   at  $1.75  each,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover  at  SI. 50  each. 
The  Count  of  Monte-Cristo.     By  Alexander  Burn  as.     Illustrated, ...SI  75 
Tho  Countess  of  Monte-Cristo.     Paper  cover,  price  $1.00  ;  or  cloth,..  1   75 

Cnmillo;  or,  the  Fato  of  a  Coquette.     By  Alexander  iHunas, 1  75 

My  Hero.     By  Mrs.  Forrester.     A  Charming  Love  Story, 1  73 

T'.io  Quaker  Soldier.  A  Revolutionary  Romance.  By  Judge  Jone-',....  1  75 
Tho  Man  of  the  World.  An  Autobiography.  By  William  Nnri.li,...  1  75 
The  Queen's  Favorite  ;  or,  The  Price  of  a  Crovrn.  A  Love  Story,...  1  75 

Sulf  Love;  or,  The  Afternoon  of  Single  arid  Married  Life, 1   75 

Memoirs  of  Vidocq,  the  French  Deleetivc.    His  Liiu  and  Ad  venture.-,  1  75 

Tue  Clyffiirds  of  Clyde,  by  author  of  "Lost  Sir  Massingbcrd," 1   75 

Catnors.  "The  Man  of  the  Second  Empire."  By  Octave  Fcuilut,..  1  75 
Lifo',  Speeches  and  Martyrdom  of  Abraham  Lincoln.  Illustrated,...  1  75 
The  B^ilii  of  Washington.  Witli  her  Portrait.  By  Mrs.  N.  P.  La.iseile,  1  7.) 
Cora  Belinont;  or,  Tue  Sincere  Lover.  A  True  Story  of  the  H.-nrt,.  1  75 
The  Lover's  Trials;  or  Days  before  1776.  By  Mrs.  Mary  A.  Denison,  1  75 
High  Life  in  Washington.  A  Life  Picture.  By  Mrs.  N.  P.  Lasselk-,  1  75 

The  Beauiii'ul  Widow;  or,  Lodore.     By  Mrs.  Percy  B.  Shelley, ]    75 

Love  and  Money.  By  J.  B.  Jones,  author  of  tho  •'  Rival  Belles,"...  1  75 
Tho  Matchmaker.  A  Story  of  High  Lii'e.  By  Beatrice  Reynold.-,..  1  75 
The  Brother's  Secret;  or,  the  Count  Do  Mara.  By  William  Godwin.  1  75 
The  Lost  Love.  By  Mrs.  0  i|ihant,  aiuhor  of  "  Margaret  Maitland,1'  1  75 
The  Roman  Traitor.  By  Il^ni-y  Willi.un  Herbert.  A  Roman  Story,  1  75 

The  Bohemians  of  London.     By  Edward  AI.  Whitty 1  75 

The  Rival  Belles;  or,  Life  in  Washington.     By  J.  B.  Jones, 1  73 

The  Devoted  Bride.  A  Story  of  the  Heart.  By  St.  George  Tucker,  1  1 5 
Love  and  Duty.  By  Mrs.  Hubback,  author  of  "  May  and  December,"  1  75 
Wild  Sports  and  Adrentures  in  Africa.  By  Major  W.  C.  Harris,  1  75 
Courtship  and  Matrimony.  By  Robert  Morris.  With  a  Portrait,...  1  75 

The  Jealous  Husband.     By  Annette  Marie  Maillard, 1   75 

The  Refugee.      By  Herman  Melville,  author  of  "  Omoo,"  •'  Typec,"  1   75 

The  Lite,  Writings,  and  Lectures  of  the  late  "  Fanny  Fern," 1  75 

Tho  Life  and  Lectures  of  Lola  Monte/,,  with  her  portrait, 1  75 

Wild  Southern  Scenes.     By  author  of  "  Wild  Western   Scenes," 1  75 

Currer  Lyle  ;  or,  the  Autobiography  of  an  Actress.  By  Louise  Reeder.  I  75 
Coal,  Coal  Oil,  and  all  other  Minerals  in  the  Earth.  By  Kli  Bowcn,  1  75 

The  Cabin  and  Parlor.     By  J.  Thornton  Randolph.     Illustrated, 1   75 

The  Little  Beauty.     A  Love  Story.     By  Mrs.  Groy 1   75 

Secession,  Coercion,  and  Civil  War.     By  J.  B.  Join-?, 1  73 

Lizzie  Glenn;   or,  the  Trials  of  a  Seamstress.     By  T.  S.  Arthur 1   75 

Lt.'l.v  Maud;  or,  the  Wonder  of  Kingswood  Chnse.    By  Pierce  Egan,  1  75 

Wilfred  Moniri^or;  or,  High  Life  in  New  York.     Illustrated 1  75 

The  Old  Stone  Mmsion.  By  C.  J.  Peterson,  author  "Kate  Avlesford."  1  75 
Kate  4ylosford.  By  Chas.  J.  Peterson,  author  "  Old  Stone  Mansion,".  1  75 

L:>rrimer  Littlegood,  by  author  "  Harry  Coverdale's  Courtship," I  75 

Ttie  E  .rl's  Secret.     A  Lovo  Story.     By  Miss   Pardoe, 1    75 

The  Adopted  Heir.  By  Miss  Pardoo.  author  of  "The  Earl's  Secret,"  1   75 

Above  books  are  each  in  cloth,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover,  at  SI  .60  each. 
The  Dead  Sopret.    By  Wilkie  Collins,  nuthor  "  The  Crossed  Path,"...   1   60 

The  Croiscd  Path;  or  Basil.     By  Wilkie  Collins, 1    50 

Indiana.  A  Love  Story.  By  George  Sand,  author  of  "  Con-iu-lo,"  1  5') 
Jealon>y  ;  or,  Teverino.  Bv  George  Sand,  author  of"  Consuelo,"  <-rc.  1  50 
Six  Nights  with  the  Washin^rtonians,  Illustrated  By  T.  S.  Arthur,  3  6>) 


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6   T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 
WORKS  BY  THE  VERY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

The  following  bonks  are  each  issued  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume, 
bound  in  cloth,  at  $1.75  each,  or  each  one  is  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 
The  Conscript;  or,  the  Days  of  Napoleon  1st.  By  Alex.  Dumns,....$l  75 
Cuusin  Hurry.  By  Mrs.  Grey,  author  of  "  The  Gambler's  Wife,"  etc.  1  75 
Saratoga.  An  Indian  Tale  of  Frontier  Life.  A  true  Story  of  1787,..  1  75 

Married  at  Last.     A  Love  Story.     By  Annie  Thomas, 175 

Shoulder  Straps.     By  Henry  Morford,  author  of  "  Days  of  Shoddy,"  1  75 
Days  of  Shoddy.     By  Henry  Morford,  author  of  "Shoulder  Straps,"  1  75 

The  Coward.     By  Henry  Morford,  author  of  "  Shoulder  Strap?," 1  75 

The  Cavalier.  By  G.  P.  R.James,  author  of  "Lord  Montagu's  Page,"  1  75 

Rose  Foster.     By  George  W.  M.  Reynolds,  Esq., 1  75 

Lord  Montagu's  Page.     By  G.  P.  R.  James,  authorof  "  Cavalier,"...   1  75 
Mrs.  Emma  D.  E.  N.  Southworth's  Popular  Novels.    38  vols.  in  all,  66  50 

Mrs.  Ann  S.  Stephens'  Celebrated  Novels.  22  volumes  in  all, 33  50 

Miss  Eliza  A.  Dupuy's  Works.     Thirteen  volumes  in  all, 22  25 

Mrs.  Caroline  Lee  Hentz's  Novels.     Twelve  volumes  in  all, 21  00 

Frederika  Bremer's  Novels.     Six  volumes  in  all, 10  50 

T.  A.  Trollope's  Works.     Seven  volumes  in  all, 12  25 

James  A.  Maitland's  Novels.     Seven  volumes  in  all, 12  25 

Q.  K.  Philander  Doestick's  Novels.     Four  volumes  in  all, 7  00 

Cook  Books.     The  best  in  the  world.     Eleven  volumes  in  all, 19  25 

Henry  Morford's  Novels.     Three  volumes  in  all, 5  25 

Mrs.  Henry  Wood's  Novels.     Seventeen  volumes  in  all, 29  75 

Emerson  Bennett's  Novels.     Seven  volumes  in  all, 12  25 

Green's  Works  on  Gambling.     Four  volumes  in  all. 7  00 

Above  books  are  each  in  cloth,  or  each  one  is  iu  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

The  following  books  are  each   issued   in  one  large  octavo  volume,  bound   in 
cloth,  at  $2.00  each,  or  each  one  is  done  up  in  paper  cover,  at  $1.50  each. 

The  Wandering  Jew.     By  Eugene  Sue.     Full  of  Illustrations, $2  00 

Mysteries  of  Paris  ;  and  its  Sequel,  Gerolstein.     By  Eugene  Sue 2  00 

Martin,  the  Foundling.     By  Eugene  Sue.     Full  of  Illustrations, 2  00 

Ten  Thousand  a  Year.     By  Samuel  Warren.     With  Illustrations,....  2  00 

Washington  and  His  Generals.     By  George  Lippard.... 2  00 

The  Quaker  City;  or,  the  Monks  of  Monk  Hall.     By  George  Lippard,  2  00 

Blanche  of  Brandywine.     By  George  Lippard, 2  00 

Paul  Ardenheira;  the  Monk  of  Wissahickon.     By  George  Lippard,.  2  00 

The  Pictorial  Tower  of  London.     By  W.  Harrison  Ainsworth, 2  50 

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each,  or  a  cheap  edition  is  issued  in  paper  cover,  at  76  cents  each. 

Charles  O'Malley,  the  Irish  Dragoon.    By  Charles  Lever, Cloth.  $2  00 

Harry  Lorrequer.    With  his  Confessions.    By  Charles  Lever,. ..Cloth,    2  00 

Jack  Hinton,  the  Guardsman.     By  Charles  Lever, Cioth,    2  00 

Davenport  Dunn.     A  Man  of  Our  Day.     By  Charles  Lever,. ..Cloth,    2  00 

Tom  Burke  of  Ours.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

The  Knight  of  Gwynne.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Arthur  O'Leary.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Con  Cregan.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Horace  Templeton.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Kate  O'Donoghue.     By  Charles  Lever, Cloth,    2  00 

Valentine  Vox,  the  Ventriloquist.     By  Harry  Cockton, Cloth,    2  00 

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T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS.  7 
NEW  AND  GOOD  BOOKS  BY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

Beautiful  Snow,  and  Other  Poetns.  New  Illustrated  Edition.  By  J. 
W.Watson.  With  Illustrations  by  E.  L.  Henry.  One  volume,  green 
morocco  cloth,  gilt  top,  side,  and  back,  price  $2.00,-  or  in  maroon 
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roon morocco  cloth,  full  gilt  edges,  full  gilt  back,  full  gilt  sides, ...  3  00 

The  Young  Magdalen;  and  Other  Poems.  By  Francis  S.  Smith, 
editor  of  "  The  New  York  Weekly."  With  a  portrait  of  the  author. 
Complete  in  one  large  volume  of  300  pages,  bound  in  green  mo- 
rocco cloth,  gilt  top,  side,  and  back,  price  $3.00 ;  or  in  maroon 
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Hans  Breitmann's  Ballads.  By  Charles  G.  Leland.  Volume  One.  Con- 
taining the  "  Firtt,"  "  Second,"  and  "  Third  Series"  of  the  "  Breit- 
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Hans  Breitmann's  Ballads.  By  Charles  G.  Leland.  Being  the  above 
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Meister  Karl's  Sketch  Book.  By  Charles  G.  Leland,  (Hans  Breit- 
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Historical  Sketches  of  Plymouth,  Luzerne  Co.,  Penna.  By  Hendrick 
B.  Wright,  of  Wilkesb:irre.  With  Twenty-five  Photographs 4  00 

John  Jasper's  Secret.     A  Sequel  to  Charles  Dickens'  "  Mystery  of 

Edwin  Drood."     With  18  Illustrations.     Bound  in  cloth, 2  00 

The  Last  Athenian.  From  the  Swedish  of  Victor  Rydberg.  Highly 
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Across  the  Atlantic.  Letters  from  France,  Switzerland,  Germany, 
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The  Ladies'  Guide  to  True  Politeness  and  Perfect  Manners.  By 
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The  Ladies'  Complete  Guide  to  Needlework  and  Embroidery.  With 
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Life  and  Adventures  of  Don  Quixote  and  his  Squire  Sancho  Panza, 
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Riddell's  Model  Architect.  With  22  large  full  page  colored  illus- 
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8    T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS'  PUBLICATIONS. 


NEW  AND  GOOD  BOOKS  BY  BEST  AUTHORS. 

Treason  tit   Home.     A  Novel.     By  Mrs.  Greenough,  cloth $1  75 

Letters,  from   Europe.    By  Colonel  John  W.  Forney.   Bound  ill  cloth,   1   75 

Frank  Fairleigh.     By  author  of  "  Lewis  Arundel,"  cloth, 1  75 

Lewis  Aruntlel.     By  author  of  ''  Frank  Fairleigh,"  cloth, 1  75 

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W  hitefri;irs  ;    or,  Tho  Days  of  Charles  the  Second,      Illustrated, 1   00 

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The  Impeachment  Trial  of  President  Andrew  Johnson.     Cioth, 1   51) 

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Lives  ofJ.ick  Sheppard  and  Guy  Fawkes.  Illustrated.  One  vol.,  cloth,  1  75 

Coiisuelo,  and  Countess  of  Kudulstadt.    One  volume,  cloth 2   00 

Monsieur  Antoine.  By  George  Sand.  Illustrated.  One  vol..  cloih,  1  00 
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lections.     By  Colley  Gibber.     With  a  Portrait  iind  Autograph, 200 

Poetionl  Works  of  Sir  Walter  Scott.     One  8vo.  volume,  fine  binding,  5  00 

Life  of  Sir  Waller  Scott.     By  John  G.  Lockhart.     With  Portrait, 250 

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Miss  Piirdoe's  Choice  Novels.  In  one  large  octavo  volume,  cloth,...  4  00 
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Charles  Dickens'  Works.  People*  12 -//-i.  Edition.  22  vols.,  cloth,  34  00 
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HUMOROUS  ILLUSTRATED  WORKS. 

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M.ijor  Jones'  Courtship  and  Travels.     With   21   Illustrations, §1  75 

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Simon  Suggs'  Adventures  and  Travels.     With    17  Illustrations, 1  75 

Swamp  Doctor's  Adventures  in  the  South-West.     14  Illustrations,...  1   75 

Col.  Thorpe's  Scenes  in  Arkansaw.     With  16   Illustrations, 1   75 

The  Big  Bear's  Adventures  and  Travels.   With  18  Illustrations, 1  75 

High  Life  in  New  York,  by  Jonathan    Slick.     With  Illustrations,....  1   75 

Judge  llaliburton's  Yankee   Stories.      Illustrated, 1   75 

ILirry  Covenlale's  Courtship  and  M:irri«gc.     Illustrated, 1  75 

Pinuy  Wood's  Tavern;  or,  Sam   Slick  in  Tcxns.     Illustrated, 1  75 

S.-IIH  Slick,  the  Clockmakcr.     By  Judge   Halibnrton.     Illustrated,...  1   75 

Humors  of  F.ilconbridge.     By  J.  F.  Kulle.y.     With   Illustrations,  ...  1  75 

Mo  lern  Chivalry.     By  Judge   BreckenrMge.     Two  vols.,  e:ich 1    75 

Neal's  Charcoal  Sketches.      By  Joseph   C.  Nenl.     21  Illustrations,...  2  50 

MADAME  GEORGE  SAND'S  WORKS. 

Consuelo,  I2mo.,  cloth, SI    50   Jealousy,  12mo.  cloth, $1  50 

Countess  of  Rudolstadt, 1    5<)    Indiana,  12m".,  cloth 1  50 

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Fanchon,  the  Cricket,  price  $1.00  in  paper,  or  in  cloth, 1  50 

First  and  True  Love, 7.r>|The  Corsair, 50 

Simon.     A  Lovo  Story, 50  [Tin;  Last  Aldini 511 

Monsieur  Antoine.     With  11   Illustrations.     Pafier,  75  cents  ;  cloth,  1  00 

Cousuelo  and  Countess  of  Kudolstadt,  octavo,  cloth, 2  00 

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AUTHORS  .NEW  EDITION  OF  "THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOIVER1K. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE ; 

OR, 

THE    ELIXIR    OF    GOLD. 
BY     MRS.    C.    A.    WARFIELD. 

Author  of  "  A  Double  Wedding ;  or,  How  She  Was  Won." 
AUTHOR'S  NEW,  COMPLETE  AND  UNIFORM  EDITION. 

Complete  in    One  Ziarge  Duodecimo   Volume   of  8OO  pages. 
Sound  in  Morocco  Cloth,  Full  Gilt  Sack.    Price  $1.75. 


THE  HOUSEHOLD  OP  BOUVEHIE. 

"THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE;  OK,  THE  ELIXIR  OF  GOLD,"  by  Mrs. 
C.  A.  Warfield,  being  the  first  volume  of  the  Author's  New  Edition  of  Mrs.  Warfield's 
celebrated  Works,  is  published  this  day.  It  is  complete  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume 
of  Eight  Hundred  pages,  containing  the  whole  of  the  two  volumes  as  originally 
published,  both  volumes  being  now  complete  in  one,  and  sold  at  the  low  price  of  $1.75 
for  the  complete  work,  in  place  of  $2.00  as  formerly. 

From  Marion  Harland,  author  of  "Alone,"  "Hidden  Path"  etc. 
"As  to  Mrs.  Warfield's  wonderful  book,  the  '  Household  of  Bouverie,'  I  have  read  it 
twice — the  second  time  more  carefully  than  the  first — and  I  use  the  term  '  wonderful,' 
because  it  best  expresses  the  feeling  uppermost  in  my  mind,  both  while  reading  and 
thinking  it  over.  As  a  piece  of  imaginative  writing,  I  have  seen  nothing  to  equal  it 
since  the  days  of  Edgar  A.  Poe,  and  I  doubt  whether  he  could  have  sustained  liimself 
and  the  reader  through  a  book  of  half  the  size  of  the  '  Household  of  Bouverie.'  I  was 
literally  hurried  through  it  by  my  intense  sympathy,  my  devouring  curiosity — it  was 
more  than  interest.  I  read  everywhere — between  the  courses  of  the  hotel-table,  on 
the  boat,  in  the  cars — until  I  had  swallowed  the  last  line.  This  is  no  common  occur- 
rence with  a  veteran  romance  reader  like  myself." 

From  George  Ripley's  Review  of  "The  Household  of  Bouverie"  in  Harper's  Magazine. 
"'The  Household  of  Bouverie'  betrays  everywhere  a  daring  boldness  of  conception, 
singular  fertility  of  illustration,  and  a  combined  beauty  and  vigor  of  expression,  which 
it  would  be  difficult  to  match  in  any  recent  works  of  fiction.  In  these  days,  when  the 
most  milk-and-watery  platitudes  are  so  often  welcomed  as  sibylline  inspirations,  it  is 
somewhat  refreshing  to  meet  with  a  female  novel-writer  who  displays  the  unmistakable 
fire  of  genius,  however  terrific  its  brightness." 


J8SF  The  Author's  New  Edition  of  "The  Household  of  Bouverie"  is  for  sale  by  all 
Booksellers ;  or  copies  of  it  will  be  sent  at  once  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  postage  pre- 
paid, on  remitting  the  price  of  the  work,  $1.75,  in  a  letter,  to  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


AN  ENTIRE  NEW  BOOK,  BY  MRS.  C,  A.  WARFELD. 

IK  PRESS  AND  Will;  BE  ISSUED  SHORTLY. 

HESTER  HOWARD'S  TEMPTATIONS. 

BY  MRS.  C.  A.  WARFIELD. 

Author  of  "  A  Double  Wedding ;  or,  How  She  Was  Won,"  "  The  Household  of 
Bouverie ;  or,  The  Elixir  of  Gold,"  etc. 

Complete  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume,  cloth,  price  $1.75. 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS,  Philadelphia,  have  concluded  an  arrangement 
with  MRS.  WAKFIELD,  the  author  of  "THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIK,"  by 
•which  they  have  become  the  future  publishers  of  all  her  works,  and  they  have  now  in 
press  and  will  shortly  issue  an  Entire  New  Work  from  her  pen,  under  the  title  of 
"  HKSTER  HOWARD'S  TEMPTATIONS,"  which  she  has  been  engaged  in  writing  and 
preparing  for  the  press  for  the  last  eighteen  months.  -This  work  has  been  pronounced 
by  critics  who  have  read  it  in  manuscript,  to  be  fully  equal,  if  not  superior,  to  her 
celebrated  work,  "  The  Household  of  Bouverie.".  It  will  be  issued  in  one  large 
duodecimo  volume,  in  uniform  style  and  size  with  "  A  Double  Wedding ;  or,  How 
She  Was  Won,"  and  with  "  The  Household  of  Bouverie,"  etc.,  and  be  bound  in 
morocco  cloth,  gilt  side  and  back,  price  $1.75. 

AUTHOR'S  EDITION  OF  MRS.  W"ARFIELD'S  BOOKS. 

T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS  have  in  press,  and  will  issue  at  once,  tin  Author's 
JVeip  and  Revised  Edition  of  all  of  Mrs.  Warfield's  celebrated  Works.  Each  book  will 
be  complete  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume,  and  be  printed  on  the  finest  white 
paper,  and  bound  in  morocco  cloth,  gilt  back  and  side,  and  published  at  the  low  price 
of  $1.75  a  volume,  in  place  of  $2.00  a  volume,  as  formerly. 

THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

The  first  volume  of  the  Author's  New  Edition  of  Mrs.  Warfield's  Works  is  published 
this  day,  being  "THE  HOUSEHOLD  OP  BOUVERIE;  OR,  THE  ELIXIR  OF  GOLD."  It  is 
complete  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume  of  Eight  Hundred  pages,  containing  the 
whole  of  the  two  volumes  as  originally  published,  both  volumes  being  now  complete 
in  one,  and  sold  at  the  low  price  of  $1.75  for  the  complete  work. 

A  DOUBLE  -WEDDING;  OR,  HOW  SHE  WAS  WON. 

A  DOUBLE  WEDDING ;  OR,  HOW  SHE  WAS  WON.  An  Entire  New  Work,  by 
Mrs.  C.  A.  Warfield,  author  of  "  The  Household  of  Bouverie,"  is  just  published,  complete 
in  one  large  duodecimo  volume,  bound  in  morocco  cloth,  gilt  back  and  side,  price  $1.75. 


J8$~  Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.  Copies  of  either  one,  or  all  of 
the  above  books,  will  be  sent  at  once  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  postage  pre-paid,  on 
remitting  their  price  to  the  Publishers, 

T.  B.   PETERSON  &  BKOTHEKS, 

306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 


A  NEW  BOOK,  BY  THE  AUTHOR  OF  "THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOlTEKiE. 

A  DOUBLE  WEDDING 


OR, 

HQW   SKI  WAS 


BY  MRS.  C.  A.   WARFIELD. 

Author  of  "  The  Household  of  Bouverie." 

Complete  in  One  Large  Duodecimo  Volume.     Jlmmd  in  JUY/rbero 
Cloth,  full  Gilt  JiacJf.    Price  $1.75. 

A   DOUBLE   "WEDDING;    OR,  HOW    SHE   WAS  WON. 

"The  Household  of  Bouverie"haa  been  pronounced  by  all  the  best  writers  bii 
critics  in  the  country  to  be  one  of  the  best  and  most  remarkable  works  ever  written 
and  we  predict  for  Mrs.  Wai-field's  new  book,  "A  DOUBLE  WEDDING;  OK,  H 
SHE  WAS  WON,"  as  great  a  popularity  as  its  predecessor,  and  a  sale  equal  to  a:.;. 
Work  of  the  kind  that  has  been  published  in  the  last  twenty  years. 

HESTER  HOWARD'S  TEMPTATIONS. 
T.  B.  PETERSON  4  BROTHERS,  Philadelphia,  have  concluded  an  arrangement 
with  MRS.  C.  A.  WAKF1EI.D,  the  well-known  Southern  writer,  and  author  of 
"THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE,"  by  which  they  have  become  the  fut.n, 
publishers  of  all  her  works,  and  they  have  now  in  press  and  will  shortly  is-'.< 
an  Entire.  Kew  Work  from  her  pen,  under  the  title  of  "HESTER  HCWAHL  .- 
TEMPTATIONS,"  which  she  has  been  engaged  in  writing  and  preparing  for  th 
press  for  the  last  eighteen  months.  This  work  has  been  pronounced  by  critic 
who  have  read  it  in  manuscript,  to  be  fully  equal,  if  not  superior,  to  li<> 
celebrated  work,  "  The  Household  of  Bonverie."  It  will  be  issued  in  one  liirp- 
duodecimo  yolume,  in  uniform  style  and  size  with  "A  Double  Wedding;  or,  llc« 
She  Was  Won,"  and  with  "The  Household  of  Bouverie,"  etc.,  and  be  bound  ir. 
morocco  cloth,  gilt  side  and  back,  price  81.75. 

AUTHOR'S  EDITION  OF  MRS.  WARFIELD'S  BOOKS. 
T.  B.  PETEIiS ON  «t  BROTHERS  have  in  press,  and  will  issue  at  once,  tit'.  Author* 
Jfew  and  Recised  Edili'.n  of  all  nf  llrt.  WarfuHCi  celebrated  Wr/rJcs.  Ea<  h  book  *  H 
be  complete  in  one  large  duodecimo  volume,  and  be  printed  on  tlie  finest  whit' 
paper,  and  bound  in  morocco  cloth,  gilt  back  and  side,  and  published  at  the  low  pric< 
of  $1.75  a  volume,  in  place  of  $2.00  a  volume,  as  formerly. 

THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE. 

The  first  volume  of  the  Author'*  A>ro  Edition  of  Mr>.  Wo.rfidrJCt  WorJct  is  publish" 
this  day,  being  "THE  HOUSEHOLD  OF  BOUVERIE;  on,  THE  ELIXIR  01 
GOLD."  It  is  complete  in  one  large  duodecimo  relume  of  Eight  Hundred  pap<;." 
containing  the  whole  of  the  two  volumes  as  originally  published,  both  volumes  beini 
now  complete  in  one,  and  sold  at  the  low  price  of  $1.75  for  the  complete  work. 


O"  Above  books  are  for  sale  by  all  Booksellers.  Copies  of  either  one,  or  all  01 
the  above  books,  will  be  sent  at  once  to  any  one,  to  any  place,  postage  pre-puid,  01 
remitting  their  price  to  the  Publishers, 

»fi  T.  B.  PETERSON  &  BROTHERS, 
W  306  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA,  PA. 

\V 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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